William Pitt Root
Song Of Ourselves
There is the way the moon enters the heart like a tooth while the eye
Like a gate left often
Stares, at the figures supposed to be women,
And the way bones fill the air, gradually, over a lifetime,
Gasp by gasp as if
To lighten the grief of years as the intricate spine in bent
Like a bow to cast out the spirit
Or the way certain scents—the iodine of the sea
Or the musk of swollen belly
Asleep, warm as a loaf—inhabit the hollow
Skull electric with memories and longing.
For we are the hives of mystery and of flowing
Inward and outward ...