Thursday, February 16, 2012

Michael Rosenthal/ THIS THING DESIRED

This thing desired us, whom we desired

To swallow us again and again
each time smaller,
each time finer
until breath is ground
into air

Days over nights, empty or not
the mill revolves

Where is the circle
Where is the axis

I acknowledge that I do not hold any more

When I listen to the sentences
intrigued by this thing

This which tears us off at the hours,
scaling our seconds
slicing our years
as long as we can listen

This thing so much desired

We will make it a wonderful bread.

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