Poem of the Week

A woman created the sun

Inside her

And her hands were beautiful

The earth plunged beneath her feet

Assailing her with the fertile breath

Of volcanoes

Her nostrils quivered her eyelids drooped

Weighed down by the heavy silt of the pillow

It is night

And the calm wound where the breathless void dies

Strikes, struggles, opens and quietly closes

on the swaying rod of Noah the explorer