The power of Job
and the moon and the bride
ducking behind snow banks.
Weather, may I have you to own,
be reborn in the dead afternoon like
a hawk that circles the windless skies?
Sleep, with all the dreams and shapes of dreams
tucked in your mind like precious stones.
I carved you out of grain. I stalked your elusive
steps, looking for you at each corner. Down I went sliding
into open houses searching for your seed, but your seed was
a balloon I could not catch and short is my child-grip,
my obsessive desires. Too far down is the raging river’s floor –
I am carried off. This time I will not panic,
but sink and imagine I am growing gills. I will relax the
burning in my mind and enjoy the end and then give in
to the continuous flow.
Allison Grayhurst has been published in journals throughout the United States, Canada, Australia, and in the United Kingdom, including The Antigonish Review, Dalhousie Review, The New Quarterly, Wascana Review, Poetry Nottingham International, The Cape Rock, Journal of Contemporary Anglo-Scandinavian Poetry, and White Wall Review. Her work has been included in the Insomniac Press anthology Written In The Skin. Her book Somewhere Falling was published by Beach Holme Publishers, a Porcepic Book, in Vancouver in 1995. She lives and writes in Canada.