Skip to content
Menu

Poetry

A silver thread pierces my hand,
Gleams in lamplight, my fingers flexing there,
The needle plunging into bleeding skin,
Making a high-pitched, silver sound

Becoming words shining in the flame that they create.
Tarnished words converge into beginnings,
Flame and words, beginnings
In moonlight, fairy rings, clouds across the sky

Entering a sentence that began elsewhere.
The tarnished thread. The hand it pierces.
Hand it weaves. The gleaming
And nothing before. The before it weaves.
The after.


The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

Related Poetry

Father Rodney

By

Richard Pierce

Exile with Fox

By

Chelsea Wagenaar

At Chinese Harbor

By

Robert Grunst

A Small Psalter

By

Pádraig J. Daly

Welcome to Image. 

We curate content just for you. Subscribe to our weekly newsletter ImageUpdate for free.


Pin It on Pinterest