The Line
       

Listen to the night give its bodies
to block it, wings pressed against
the lit screen, even an inch of it,
undaunted, thrashing the flame
thrashing into it, and the flicker then
hissing it is better in darkness.
This is how the selfish mind loves

into only: by fusion, erasing
the multiple, clouds' furrows dirt's
furrows, stems each veined
and tissued separate until our body's
spines loosen in the hill's. It is safe

now. The rooster ate each
hen into him and the crickets
expand into sound:-we are only
while we are still blind. Dawn

cuts out the trunk and drains its shadow.
White sheets on the line like a row of doors.

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Copyright © 2016 Margaret Ross All rights reserved
from A Timeshare
Omnidawn
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission