Changeling

there were words made of shapes
taken from the dreaming well
and its copper pail
that became like runes
on the scroll of my tongue
when I drew them
from their native waters

and I pulled you down to my cellar

to bare those naked shards

stolen for the knitting of our marrow

with a ferment of visions

steeped within

that you had not seen

 

but the silt of broken medicines

that lingered

on the shores of my eyes

frightened even birds

from the garden up above

and I saw the under-ceiling of the earth

tremble as they fled

as the frailty of your body

swooning like a windswept willow

seemed an ominous portent

like a murder of crows

alighting on the steeples

on your days of binding

 

and I remembered how

your bibulous fingers ran

rippling through the torque-strung cables

tangled underneath my flesh

like hands within a loom

pulling free the knots

like wine drunk back by the grape

or the leaves and taproot

furled and folded back into the seed

 

and I became quickened

by haunts of rough nurturing

and blind neon winters

that broke my will

with their silent and neglecting glare

and departed to these hills

wrapping hides of the bear and coyote

tightly on my flesh

the beckoning of creature

overtaking will

as my heart

relinquishing the human fable

went to dwell again within the wilds

 

Reviews

[Vertigo]

Amaaaazing write I love it

[LR Young]

I like the idea of knitting marrows, and becoming the bear, the stag, the coyote, just by taking on the hide. It's like the fairy tale "Brother & Sister." I have two questions/other comments:

1) in line 3 is it supposed to be pale? or pail?
2) I think "bibulous" is a great, great word... but it also sounds close to bulbous...

Beyond that, your timing is lovely, the images unique, dark and rich.