Bone Scan
LISTEN NOW
Maybe some sun today
A fragment would do
A singular patch shining on the humble columbine
Curtsying in prophetic supplication
Harbouring the sacred pollen
Negotiating the intransigent gods of sky and soil
A scant dash of light would do, secretly descending
As I lie entombed
Within the claws of this metallic beast
The one with the tentacled eyes
Always seeking the heat, the maligned flesh
Slumbering in its bed of sacred sin
Clasping the cold bone inside me
Lain here, inert
It is difficult to conjure an imagination
Of the columbine, decorous, demure
Awash in the slanting prism of the sun
To envision its fragile arc of indigo
its gentle blooms genuflecting in blue
