Let the mind be star,
you said, and let your heart be
lithe no matter what
your body might do.
No matter how I try to
form this up I grow
fur and snout and snort
into the easterly wind.
My velvet ears flare
and tremble. All four
legs push claw into the mulch.
Then I grip your soul
in mine and dash off,
headed toward my thieve's den
in the limestone rocks.
April 28, 2014 10:47 PM
Poem first appeared as a comment on Irene Toh's Orange Is A Fruit
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The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.