Paraphonia Poem by Katerina Val

The blasphemy of the passenger
is so dissonant for the singing birds
that hang their lavish plumage upright to the buried trees
never been so dissonant, never again
for the unsolved half dead of the day
for the cracked fingers of them
that endeavor to tear the terribly still seas

But the blasphemy of the stranger!
Oh, this kind of dissonance
unhangs the withered miracles off the sleepy trees
and never, ever again
has an uttered cross from dried lips
crucified sable hearts
For, the blasphemy of the strange & indifferent
is such a freedom
it was such a relief and thus they sing
the bird, the singing tree

For, blind as they compose the tissues of their elegiac cries
the blasphemy of the passenger
fills their lavish sides with diamonds of doubts
And that is the wonderful death of change
admitting that the seasons of the passenger
and the seasons of the stranger
stagger through the shakes
always alternate
through the blasphemies
and through their every new god’s games

So, every time you change
think of new suiting name
or, why not
delete this urge
and just create the paraphonia of change