Tuesday Morning

A Poem by James Diaz

I found you on my way
to the foundry
a symbol of deer
like hoof of time
or smell of rain
that jar with ‘love’ writ
on its shell of bone
across the two aching
low hung hills
one could never enter

my morning in your pocket
of river
tar and elm mixed by blood
and body knowing the world
is reborn in less than an instant
a quiver
your eye
is word lit with mended olive root
how the sting sat with only one shoot
in its open mess
a ground made by no one

by everyone.