the gathering verb
Sunday, November 15th, 2009In the act of gathering,
the verb becomes the fruit.
Leaned against a white wall
along with ink drawings of a sparrows with white chests,
red birds singing into their mouths,
the dream of black words written across it,
formatted as a love poem.
If I were brave and strong,
I’d gather branches
knit them together, weave and tie,
fold and crease, merge things
who seem […]