Wednesday, January 9, 2019

Between Breaths

by David Sullivan

Bees above the village of Liugong’s
last remaining mosque weigh down
each flower. Qilian junipers whisper-
rub each other. Clouds veil mountains
then lift, revealing rain-polished greens.

The spider restrings the line I broke,
crooked back leg tests tension.
The mushroom crop thrusts
up through night’s dark soil—
blind fingers of the dead.

What we survive pricks us alive.
Pause between breaths. Listen.
From its high branch a jackdaw
caterwauls, then flies.

1 comment:

  1. What a lovely poem for now, and for all times, David. Thank you. Namaste.

    ReplyDelete