Opening Words
(“Then one day
as he was teaching the people in the Temple, and preaching the Gospel to them,
the chief priests, the scribes and elders confronted him…” Luke 20:1,
2a)
Shout darkness at the
sun, bay at the dawn and call it doom,
your discount words will not render rainbows black. Alarmed
by blinders, the swords and jagged ripsaws of invention
hold no power over the Northern Lights when they visit
the silent boy sitting late night on a rock outside the cave
wondering why his ears ache from the weight of attempted
eclipses of glory.
your discount words will not render rainbows black. Alarmed
by blinders, the swords and jagged ripsaws of invention
hold no power over the Northern Lights when they visit
the silent boy sitting late night on a rock outside the cave
wondering why his ears ache from the weight of attempted
eclipses of glory.
Write the perfect
opening words; let the novel snake its way
through mistrust and doubt, leading protagonists in and out of
canvas walls set up only for opening night. The readers will believe
based on authorship alone, with original sources gathering dust
behind bowling balls and unused ski gloves until trust
has faded like a word from King James obscure.
through mistrust and doubt, leading protagonists in and out of
canvas walls set up only for opening night. The readers will believe
based on authorship alone, with original sources gathering dust
behind bowling balls and unused ski gloves until trust
has faded like a word from King James obscure.
Open the French windows,
push them out into rain or wind,
sun or still, and let the light play on the wall as it will. Reverse
the bay window
with cardinals and jays nearly entering the room,
sip your coffee, break croissants with your neighbor
and watch for another word to drop like dew upon conversation.
sun or still, and let the light play on the wall as it will. Reverse
the bay window
with cardinals and jays nearly entering the room,
sip your coffee, break croissants with your neighbor
and watch for another word to drop like dew upon conversation.
Pour another cup and
butter the broken bread,
death and life circulate despite our best intentions,
and let the touch, the fingertip of a single hand awake
the cistern of deep unfilled too long. Glory shines,
light reminds that death is, if we have desired,
the transfer without baggage, the day we had hoped
each day would be when we awoke each morning.
It is the final invocation; the location of all in one
without the weight of what’s done is done.
death and life circulate despite our best intentions,
and let the touch, the fingertip of a single hand awake
the cistern of deep unfilled too long. Glory shines,
light reminds that death is, if we have desired,
the transfer without baggage, the day we had hoped
each day would be when we awoke each morning.
It is the final invocation; the location of all in one
without the weight of what’s done is done.
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