Moving Through by Francis Piché

The earth moves
with muscle made of molten stone.
Birthmarked by ancestor graffiti,
I step off at the edge of fear
ride this single ticket, with no return.

In the company of light
everything comes with its own shadow.
Each day stencils my mind
with the weight of memory –
neuro-feedback in time warp.

How I perceive what I receive
signals words, tongue`s need,
to lift and turn each page,
like autumn collects leaves
birthed in spring.

I call across the valley
for a little warmth
told in primary colours:
the sound of an eyelid’s blink
shatters the silence.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s