Thursday, April 21, 2011

Cento the first

For six months I arranged museum dioramas,
sad beds wide enough for planting.
The trick is to make it personal.
Now I am safe in the deep V of a weekday.
A hundred times consider what you’ve said
implicit with stars in active orbit.
Let silence drill its hole.
We’ll kiss each kiss other on kiss the kiss,
disappear, emerge, twitch, reverse course
in the glaring white gap.

(NaPo prompt: Write a cento, a poem composed entirely of lines from other poems.)

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