Meredith Quartermain

Prayer for Geography
                         To all who fall
                         to matter
                         write the earth
               a         space          of        white
                              break     of bread
          plates         break                    in relief
                         write     stones    cocks cry      
               to collected waters
                         or hollow fire of iron.
          Eat  atmosphere, a garland
                         sift on a drift
                              post out the earth's hearth
                    to horizon and swallow heat
                         of antipodes
                    plants ride out in leaves
          to mirror oceans
          to finger rivers tribulations
          smooth away our tombs.
               Figures of earth, press out our bodies.
               Strange our urge into that which takes stand.
               Distribute our loom
          work through the scape the seek of air
                    each ear our forgotten art.
                         For these are our herdsmen
               and without this earth as
                    risk we have no
               right of river      hear
          our three yonders             a sphere
          of being                           of geography to the
          ring             of ocean                   above them
               the maps            antipodean
          tenderness     in all    who fall
                    to matter      who come simply
                    to throw  shadows on the moon's
                         shifting horizon    who
                    devote constellations to the ends
                         of the earth   wide
               from the road of symmetry.

The East Village Poetry Web