Today's poem is by Michael Bazzett


burrows into his cave
lined with warm earth
dug from the pine hillside.
Roots spiral from above
like coarse hair, fragrant
and beaded with sap.
He digs until he strikes
shattered bedrock buried
like a wisdom tooth,
then lights his candle.
How long he carves
signs into the granite
and paints signs onto
the granite, we do not know.
He outlines the trembling
shapes cast by his unsteady
light until at last the flame
draws up straight as thread
and the air around him grows
still and he turns to see
the mouth of the cave
has firmly closed and he
has become a tongue.

Copyright © 2013 Michael Bazzett All rights reserved
from Pleiades
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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