To forget what has happened is a sacrament, an access
of power: the furor of these bronze leaves helpless to surround
ball of birdsong
gathered underneath towering
cauldrons of gold.
For nothing do you grieve. They twitter, the sound
careening like curraghs on unnavigable water. Nothing.
Clamor. The wind dies down. Memory
visibly burning in the gold sea of the air,
cinders drifting on the black gold of the ground.
by Stephanie Strickland
from her new book Zone: Zero published by Ahsahta Press (2008)
Art by Alice via her blog Fly Like A Kitefish