When the storm arrived she half woke and said something I could
Another voice with its face in a crowded room – layers of
conversation and the annoying hum of halogen lamps.
She was there, lost in the crowd, while outside the rain fell so
thick in the wind the road rippled like turbulent mercury.
Sleep begins with surgery.
Surgery begins with a painful heat.
There is a true blade
but it is not steel, bronze or iron,
flint or obsidian.
Summer is a solid yellow canopy,
a jaundiced smear of infection
spread thick in the air where
the sun ought to be.
A coil of eyes blinking
the stammering tongue won’t stop.
Call this a blade
and a man eager to let it work.
Copyright © 2008 Jake Berry