poem02 Feb 2020 07:15 pm

Shapes the Blood Remembers

Michael Fosburg

He comes when the light turns sour 
as through a throb of starlings 
or bruised clouds hunched with rain,  
 
Clad in shapes that twist the eye 
like wind-bent smoke. 
He seeds the honeyed madness. 
Centaur stink, cloven wanderer, 
hump of dappled shadow. 
 
You breathe him in— 
 
(the remembered terror
claws constricted veins,
scored eyes search
through darkened trees,
teeth like spears 
tear innards strewn 
across ancient dust)
 
and you are no longer. 
What remains are just shapes
the blood remembers.
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One Response to “Shapes the Blood Remembers”

  1. on 04 Feb 2020 at 9:02 am   Bruce Boston

    Impressive imagery!

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