Soul Sift

sieve

 

My soul has barbs…
it does not glisten smooth
for it has threads…and latches
to my being hoop.
With no spider avarice to
spin nourishment from air,
it sieves existence from
all music passing by.

My soul is blind…
it reels invisible from
a time space spool.
Without sighting percept
it intuits its own is.

My soul is…mine.
It binds me into life
with intrinsic fusion
identical to fire.

Bonnie Marshall

Sculpture by Maud Cotter

10 thoughts on “Soul Sift

  1. Not sure how I missed this one, Bonnie: “my being hoop” — nice play between noun and adjective in that hoop, and of course “sieves existence” … wonderful. Minds me of Whitman’s, “the impalpable sustenance of me from all things at times of the day.” Suggests also to me soul as third category, between body and spirit-body; the home of an ingrown “own is.” Does it intuit the world, also? Bet the poem lives beyond these proto-systems of mine. Great work.

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