SENSE TO THIS

there is sense to this

sense is paper peeled
from burned skin
this is a chain of tangled
pieces busted from dawns

sense is dip of heat
in the urn of summer
this is warm breath
distilled on a cool body

sense is flooding
the lips of dusk
this is a kernal of stone
growing mountains

sense is chaos
of squeals and laughter
this is cottonwood down
floating on the last breath

sense is a streaked heart
split to slivers and shards
this is oil of scent
bruising the crossboned air

sense is beyond sunbarred
curls of cedar smoke
this is a sac of skin
rising to birth

there is sense to this


© 1995 by Richard W. Todd

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