by braille

Poem #120 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.

Back to Bachelard and me – Introduction


he sculpted the head
with his hands

the size of it

the broad
shape
.
.
.
.
.
the weight

and by touch
he elaborated each eye

marked an iris

rounded a pupil

then
as though a blink
may one day be needed
he fashioned
for each
an eyelid

a nose
smooth geographical marker
of the landscape
that he felt
beneath his hand

nostrils curved
from out
to in

cheekbones
only visible
to his touch

his fingers explored
-so tactile-
the mouth

an excavation that then required
its own tongue
though silent
only ever speaking
into his head

he formed a ridge
inside
etched the teeth

molars and canines
incisors

in the form of a smile
he added paired lips
full and rounded
slightly parted
as though paused
in the midst
of the whisper
of something profound

finally the ears
a canal
before the peculiar
contoured funnel
of the auricle

he built up
his sculpted head
from the inner
out

washed his hands clean
of remnant clay
and laid his hand
once again
gently
on the face


© Frank Prem 2018

Bachelard and me Poem #121: alive now

250418

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