by Patricia Clark
Under the skull’s bone, a thought saying “rest.”
Under the roof, a bed saying “here, sleep.”
Under the breath, simply “wait.”
Under the tongue, moisture, seawater of the body.
Under the rugosa rose, a toad.
Under the sky pending rain, pearl of cloud, grace
of gray-green leaves,
Under the stone, a potato bug rolled in a ball.
Under the suet feeder, crumbs for the chipmunks.
Under the stepping stones, the mole’s earthy trail.
Under the blackberry vine leaf, a spider’s lair.
Under the wrist’s skin, a blue vein pulsing.
Under coleus leaf, under lobelia petal, stems unbroken.
Under the match, the chance of warmth, of fire.
Under candle, wick and, further down, saucer made of glass.
Under wild turkey feather, a nib to hold ink.
Under thought, a word to utter, also to share
with another soul.
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