Your bed the hole
you return to
in this house
your den this
noise looming
scourge upon tree,
this engine to drown
your last note and
the first, how
little one, do you keep––
singing
time?
How do you––?
Keep. Sing this
time.
Sparrow
For your deliverance.
<3
Love how you made the language fall apart as the poem progresses.
Bartholomew, thank you for seeing that. I have been really moved by the way Jorie Graham does this, and maybe open to the possibility/ likelihood of these breaks in certain contexts.
Lovely, that thing inside that will not stop chirping to be set free!