Seven Spell
conjured in a closet;
seven minutes in a delusive boon
deep breaths shallow,
ankles stretched, entwined
ribs padded with throbs,
bells and trance
it never ended and then
it ended
the spell distant,
retrospect, precious
the doorways, hall-
ways, the fleeting pitter
patters gaze
up a long flight of stairs
something’s still
there to behold
is it sorcery or charm?
invoke a comely name for it
recall your palms
flattening my thrum,
my thrum, my good judgment groped,
ravaged, delirious
Reb Livingston, "Seven Spell" from Your Ten Favorite Words, published by Coconjut Books Copyright © 2007 by Reb Livingston. Reprinted by permission of the author.
Source:
Melancholia’s Tremulous Dreadlocks
(2006)
