so these lines fell

so these lines fell

sudden lamplight down

an ink-dark hall

half-moons, like truth

cresting,

my eyes round

the fallowed path youth

in marrow blossom

the bone-field bursts

like-lines narrowly

wresting

half-light from

furrows memory

-ca

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(The title comes from a line by poet Tomaz Salamun. As soon as I read that line, the process of becoming in writing swirled in my mind. Not just the growth process for us as writers, but the process of the poems themselves. From that initial spark, that a-ha moment, the memories, through to the stepping back to breathe a bit. At times the images grow with such fury that they almost write themselves. Though, just as often, we work endlessly to free the form from the rock, digging for bones. )