The Momentary

O God this is me standing
naked before the dawn - in the
clear jagged light all 
wounds: snake-bitten
gouges in the soft pelvic flesh;
ragged torn edges white
scars thigh-raised; the weaker leg
I am left standing on, 
muscles underdone - bulbous
inharmonious ankle bones re-
gathered in pain lack oil and
freeze onward momentum.  Then
there is the winding sheet around my eyes
and the scare of the
bright limned yellow moment,
sharp-faced sun strikes me -
brief burning flare of torture
when the body fires and flattens
into wired and singeing edges
cut out of air - held there,
human prism - glowing
charged and still, unbreathing,
hanging in the glare as if
I could shatter with beauty, did I move.

Was it wanting, the clarity, was it
true to prediction, unwavering?  or
did it crumple in the wounding
to the ground, remain still?  In
mid-Spring I will know, when
the air turns benign and the afternoon
sun softens on rooftops, warming
drizzle.  I may walk out of
that tower, tall,
and breathe again, be filled.

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