Relief

the sharp relief takes the black ink
it draws from the capillaries
it drinks and fills itself
the stone cries blood to fill the depression

a bird or two dares song into
a frosted morning, clutching hollow bones
onto dry branches and
discombobulated by noise of
trucks
cars
TVs
urinals
power lines
the hum of the new forever

Could a word draw blood?
Is a poet a swordsman?
His description, insight, cutting against the flesh of the world
A necessary wounding
A bloodletting, or a spearing of a cyst?
Does overvaluing your own dubious skillset make you a big obnoxious asshole?

One of the most beautiful sentences in English,
“I don’t know,”
Three words, implies a vulnernability, suggests a willingness to learn and understand
A second gorgeous sentence:
“I forgive you,”
It’s empathy, submission, and a re-establishment of peership after an implied darkest hour
The third is: “I love you,”
Simple as

The valley drinks the rain
It draws into deep underground belly
miles from the thunderheads
the sky drenches the soil to fill the depression

a deer or two dares wander to the side of the road, violets budding in the dew
onto asphalt and yellow reflective paint
the grass in the median awaits