by Seth Jani
Invariably, these statues sing.
Wrought-up in the darkened landscape
By the combing wind
They sway in their emerald music
While overhead, the small muscles
Of the stars work the universe.
They are the old, gnarled fingers
From the earth’s deep clutches.
The towering alphabet from which the birds
Offer tiny lessons.
They carry little scraps of darkness
On their breezy shoulders
And drop them over us on summer days.
They eat the dead and resurrect
Their mottled bodies,
Offer fruit in the starving sun.
They give form to our endless families,
Dust upon inherited dust.
And when a great love has entered
Through our lives,
We lay our shared breath beneath them
While they drop, one by one,
Their perfect heart-shaped cherries
Into our dreaming mouths.
Seth Jani currently resides in Seattle, WA and is the founder of Seven CirclePress (www.sevencirclepress.com). His own work has appeared throughout the small press in places like The Foundling Review, Red River Review and Eunoia Review. More about him and his work can be found at www.sethjani.com
Hawaii Pacific Review 
My God, that was a stunning poem.