Monday, 14 April 2014

11. Cartwheels

I woke today believing
I could whirl cartwheels—

warum nicht? After all,
it’s been twelve months &

the fountain is regurgitating
summer, the dandelions

have recommenced
the assault on the lawn.

It’s not so strange that
somewhere in the lunge

of night, gymnastics
soaked into my bones.

What I mean is stranger
things have happened.

It’s been twelve months &
we are not dead yet;

when the wolves pawed
the door we gouged

their golden eyes
with splintered sticks.

The wolves cried blood.

I woke today grinning &
tossed one leg after another.

My ankles recommenced
their flight to the moon.

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