photo: ralph murre, glass artist: unknown
The Arrows That Choose
Us
by Marilyn Annucci
the
ones who hover above us, pressing us
to
live or love or be eaten by death
are
smaller than ferns, taller than goats,
redder
than blood, cold as snow inside snow
inside
caves of rock or shadows or
a
garden’s hell. They exist in mud, in a sky
beyond
sky, in a mind that won’t stop,
in
the white light of another realm where
duty
calls, where tunnels are wrought,
where
strange creatures move forward
bearing
black bones, talons, words, the prick
of
desire, whatever is needed to tear us awake
~ previously published in Waiting Room (Hill-Stead)
