Marriage, Humanimal
        "The thing in itself has no abnormality."
                        —Guo Pu

A small spider spins in the north corner of our bedroom.

        In the momentum of our life         with words,

you tell me why the eighth king cut the sky rope. We alight

        in storm         drought        aspirations

to be steadfast.        Pause         in the hard knowledge

        of bone protruding on my X-ray.

I know less         each day.        Crack one egg

        in the glass bowl, another        distracted

in the kitchen sink.         Don't hope         for a better past.

        Accumulation         of snapped wings         catcalls

Cornell’s boxed owls. Becalmed on the postcoital sea,

        do you hear my flinch and quiver?         See the light

in my fingers spill out my eyes. In the isolation

        of his cork-lined room         Proust was large enough

to contain kindness. I pause         open the door.

        Outside as inside         we shift and glide.

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Copyright © 2022 Carol Westberg All rights reserved
from Ice Lands
David Robert Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission