Dreamwork & the Self
Enter at the mouth.
an empty planter’s container.
Pick up the gnarled bark,
rivulets in its skin, walk
with this piece, a shorn tongue
floating like a leaf in a tea
cup.
Ingesting is a slow gush,
oxymoronic, like the forked
spark that says, I am flesh -
I am an open casket, yet
my bones litter the journey,
a sun-gold tomato studded path
toward a centre. And dreams
thread themselves like ivy
here in the labyrinth, where
shapes are edged, and details
are dark. The bark gives way
to the seer stone, rolling. Back
to life with cat-shaped eyes,
from which the mountain becomes
visible. The mouth moves.
Trains rush, make haste to
destination.
Words find wings. A voice claimed
can’t be tempered;
the truth
gathers, sails like two birds
heading for warmer weather.
Danielle Riccardi lives in Connecticut. Her poems appear in the Love, Art, Play Poet’s Corner, The Journal of Undiscovered Poets and is forthcoming in Last Leaves Magazine.
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