Rapture
In feather and in fury | fly the vicious
Eagle, entrance | end the warp,
Forth sunder | in small sun
Like beaded beauty | better than grasp
Talon-tightly | torque and tear;
Ah, small thing | thence you blossom
Stark and crimson | creature like a bloom.
Greatly grasses | gripe them short,
Flurry sudden | such small
Violence, not vengeance. | Vitality in burn,
No time, no time at all | terribly you learn
What learnéd lesson | leases not escape
But dances, dances | down so dim
Ages, and accounts | awfully seeded
Thy ledger lieth not, | look: empty
Stand its lines. | Lack my beastie
Nothing now, | never treasure
Green grass | that groweth more.
Aloft ascend, | alight in transform —
Now sightless citizen | of stranger shore.
Connor Patrick Wood is a poet and Substacker (https://cultureuncurled.substack.com) in Arlington, Massachusetts. He holds a BA in creative writing from the University of Wisconsin-Madison and a PhD in religion and science from Boston University. Before he left academia, Connor’s research on the cognitive science of ritual was funded by the John Templeton Foundation. He has published poetry at the Rabbit Room Substack, Ekstasis, and elsewhere.
Amethyst Review 