Brambles
Roller coaster loops,
Thermals of unfathomed storms,
Work together in the hoops
That curl around our twisted forms,
Ashen layers shred
From redone oxygen and sun.
Roots and tendrils, thread
The infinite dimensions
Between flowers in the bed,
In our thicket’s winding frame,
As with airy leaps
And dives we reclaim
Our trellised pain.
Spinning in the dream
And riddle of the skein,
Shuttling between these purled
And darkened fields of rain,
Our many worlds immersed
Inside a human maze, we remain
Artless always, but well-versed.
April 4th, 2024
Explanation
I wrote this Easter poem for Patrick Dougherty’s and James Florio’s book with Radius Publishing, complete with a crown of thorns (brambles), a crucifix (trellised pain), and a resurrection (we reclaim)—like any good party.
Cathy had said that, “Like a Moebius strip, Patrick takes you into another dimension and back without your even realizing it.”
Forms, roller coaster loops, spins, riddles, shuttles, skeins, frames invoke Patrick’s weaving into other dimensions, until the last line weaves together dichotomies and oxymorons to produce the artlessness Patrick likes.
This is how some poems work as well.