These granite cliffsides
rock a fissured glittering
pine crack in thunder.
.
In a carapace
encrusted with sand like stars
crawls forth the turtle.
.
Deep-watery disc
balanced, imperfect.
.
Steel glass canyons echo
barbaric yawps for money
the cordoned greenery.
.
A bulwark dictionary
propped on a café table,
but these are my words
.
Sundered from pine granite and
thunder, a lit world.
.
A fash of binding
white—this mountainous redoubt—
lights the turtle-pond.
What is a turtle with no shell?
The turtle, or something else?
.
Occlusion of words,
stripped of the world’s green and gray,
the water is cool.
The cliffs are of one piece, wind
swaying the pines with one voice.
About the Creator
BD Allen
Bryan has been writing poetry and fiction since college. He currently focuses on literary fantasy where he draws inspiration from modernists such as TS Eliot, James Joyce and William Faulkner.
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