Imprint

    i.
Two umber-pelted rams
gallop in parallel –
one on each side of the road.
My car rolls between them.

My blue metal steed slows right down,
as their spiralling horns,
their starry thighs and crested spines,
their taut, violin-bow legs leap by.

    ii.
Hands on the steering wheel,
heading towards town,
my head turns and notices
a crow on a bridge railing.
His beak is open, holding something, food –
or is it a phrase, for me to speak,
a promise from the future,
which the oyster-coloured waters
are still smoothing over?

    iii.
What do I do
with the language
of life, imprinting
its alphabet of blood and flesh
into mine, so they mesh?

    iv.
I write it down.
A new old way of seeing.
Oh, to be a star
on a thigh, and be warm
with brightest being.

– Silke Heiss