Outside & Inside
by Claudette Bouman
It’s falling,
Beyond the frontiers of sight
Into the circle of touch.
A timid flick on the nose,
Picture below
Pinpricks of blacker on black pavement,
Stones, manholes.
Next a tiny staccato pick-picking of dry leaves
Inside the edges of sound
A soft tinkling on tyrant winter’s leftovers.
Still falling beyond failing eyes
But contained by smell’s borders
Petrichor─warm, earthy, acrid
It goes clear through, piercing.
Is it drizzle or mizzle?
The mourning dove knows
It laments create haunting airs
Reaching inner ranges of waking ears
Just before falling off the hearing cliff,
Getting inside sad-cooings and outside silences.
Published in Open Heart Forgery, March 19, 2022.
Digital version available here.