oracle midwife (cubist morning : picasso day)

his middle eye is focused
on something still to come
his other one is watching
us

with one ear he’s listening
the other is not here
his lips are murmuring whispers
of what will be
what will be

of what has been

a gesture
an incantation
tics and twitches
and shouts and screams

birthing rites have ever been sung
this way

when the sun has passed it’s height
his trembling fades
a slump into the corner speaks eloquently
and the day he made has died

beneath the creeping shade
evening steals colour
away from the light
but he is not dead
no it’s only the passing of a time
and he will rise again
unfix his eyes and let the palsy dance
resume his arms and legs

to wake up the morning
again

---

© Frank Prem, 2010