If I see

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If I see God’s skin,
myself a season of
rain washing a field,
then my condition is final.
Doors keep collapsing
like elm-tree branches in an ice-storm.
Stars are weeds to Oblivion’s depths,
sea-floating, swaying with the motion of moons,
spreading weedy flowers of illumination.

I moved from my purgatory coffin,
opened my hand to hold yours. Did it matter?
To lift my head to hear your music?
A perpetual low-fuel
drainage, in me, this desire, hole, exposed
and storming, drip, drip, a spider-bite,
a great bird, small in a high height of sky.

Still, to be asleep again, before this battered bridge
beckoned me across, before the
culprit of caring cracked my anonymity, my
protective chamber fat with secrets, cold with no need.

Looking out, I cry, I could jump, exploring a soft wind.
If only I could stop looking, face
the lonely rushing in, face
the result of this failed equation –
damp dead field, drowned corners.

Allison Grayhurst

Allison Grayhurst is a member of the League of Canadian Poets. She has over 450 poems published in international journals and anthologies. She has eleven published books of poetry and five collections, as well as six chapbooks and one e-chapbook. She has appeared in include Parabola (summer 2012); Literary Orphans; Blue Fifth Review; South Florida Arts Journal; Gris-Gris; The Muse – An International Journal of Poetry and many others.

She lives in Toronto with her family. She also sculpts, working with clay; www.allisongrayhurst.com

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