A Made Thing

strange, this:
a foreign feeling born within me,
set out from an ocean.
breezing by and through
waiting to be caught
waiting to escape
(do you hear it like I do?)
laughing in such bliss as it slips
through his fingers
the hands of the ‘other’ being only too slow
and me
happening upon it

and you,
you all
the collective you
the royal you,
and me,
come close
look what it is i’ve caught in my
cupped hands:
it is a made thing,
a living breathing made thing,
only seen in the quiet rush before
the wind,
with teeth and tail it slams
across open fields and quiet lakes,
where does come from ever as it does,
I ran into it on a deep back road
as I was falling through my own mind,
I caught it by it’s sky blue scaly tail
and it told me a story.

here,
bend in,
crane your ear
you may hear it.

Hear the violin of it’s voice
how the bow of vocal chords from
clear breezes hits not your ears
but your brain,
it is resonant like a spider’s nest,
and you are breath and morning, we are,
the both of us.