Jane Duran It haunts the far edge of the adapted brain – Is all but unsayable in the words that remain – Would be as elemental as the owl’s flight – Lifting its wings through the narcosis of night – As compelling as a blind man’s hand Touching the face of a shell-shocked child – Would be the hand ringing the monastic bell – The bronzed circles humming all is still well In the archaic beat of the juddering heart – An epic in each cell – an epiphany in each part – Would be the Paraclete – the descent of fire – Hovering bird – open mouth – glossolalia – Would be over a severed world bleeding – An arching noun of care, a participle of healing.
