Notes on panic


Shall I regard the dark
knowing it is past?

Enmeshed in the ‘once was’
certain–
              scored, a

stampede carrying thunder
into my corridors,
                            chambers,
 
              a knife–

Revistant
Pass!

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In the dark I feel,

dark edges
pressed-down
         ridged— 
tight-laced-seals

Soul is unquiet –
its speaking voice
is the sea—

Rain, 
rain falls on
all things—

awaiting dawn’s song, 
her joy 
            glosses                                                                            |joy glosses|
this inundation
       with light,
pearls
        beads—
       whitelit,
                  Green—  

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Small bird voice

Pipette piccolo
in a tall,
the tallest tree 
                 How
  high it climbs
How tall the vault –
   small-bodied-bird
small-voice-vessel
          La sua voce!
his silver notes
      at pitch
          tip-tail-trill
              He weaves
his threads round, 
                           He
reaches the loftiest branches
                    wren-warbler
     carrying his small song
                     garden-wide. 

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Copyright Chris Murray 2021

First published Revista Itaca, Vol 35, September 2021

Online URL https://issuu.com/edituraitaca/docs/itaca_nr_35?fbclid=IwAR11NBY9HsBOvMAl-06RC0NBa28uCCdOnBQAy5J7DY1G72qwl6eqDQUOgyY

…excepting the poem small bird voice, first published Gold Friend (Turas Press, 2020)

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