Song for a Bottled Soul


Its a bright star nestled in my closed fist

Twinkling, blurred by feeble human sight.

Its dark lightning shot through breathing bone

And stark desire pressed wet against the light.


With eyes open, it sleeps

In dreams it stirs, flows out pores, off fingertips,

A flood of sound and spark

In rivulets off my shaking skin.


Speak and sigh and cry out

As under I go, churned by a wheel

Of soundless turning, quick and light.

I am bare



And I am strong.






Copyright (c) 2002 by Christine Hoff Kraemer