by Mary Beth Zeleznik Artz
Where is the record of the first invalid kept?
Notes on the marginal make, torn.
From the bright moment heart was formed,
how it darkly leapt.
The form worn and maker wept.
What was the sound of the cry when she fell?
and sounds the earth made when she knew.
When spirit was swallowed and flesh did swell.
The ingress of the iron bell,
tolling of a world turned, out of the blue.
Into a fog that covers with film,
films your moments and tapes your words,
together to mean what loosens and girds.
Innocence cries in the song of the birds
Your heart set and cracked inside the kiln.