3 poems || Felino A. Soriano

Of this Momentum Song (thirty)

                          _______________

                          We must be as pure as our music.

                                                                             —Albert Ayler

   Acclimation sound

  we must move

               to

    involve these spectrums

   these sedentary teachings

                       a

     more than theory

    operational thrill

      to control impulse

                     falling

    back, inward, insight

   glazed the sky calls

      upward faith

                  the

    prose in our lean

   depicts suction

     from bone from

    bridge carrying

                 our

   music… this is

  what we’ve become

    and are in between—

                    such

  clarity the rare focal

   gauge, we marry we

  engage we hold and

                  hide

    the impulse more

   than fathom, of

      color the tone

    -life and the mass

                  thrives

  in how we make

    our wander

              bold—

    we do not look

  toward where we’ve

 entrusted, where we’ve

   hidden hope in the names

  of wing and wander

                     we’ve

   much to become

  to find in these

     undulating hands’

                    clutch

      of

  the

            emblems stored…

         we

  will make our way,

                                unaltered

 

Of this Momentum Song (nearly thirty-one)

   We, made of teeth

   of whole strength

     language.  This

                 symmetry

                          above

                  us, whimsical

                              silence

                                   an

  invention of

 what will

    never

         harm

             or

pivot into an absent

  discovery, father

 of a frayed-cloth

   impulsion. 

 

Of this Momentum Song (thirty-one)

    Night gone, night now

   glowing, winged—flurry

     of names hang gliding—

    the dead, not discarded

                         describe

  our steps, our momentum

   singing into inver

  -ted halos: what we

 find when pivot

    is behavior

               we

  pushpin into

 the righteous wall

   of memory…

             with

     newness, praise

   from gilded tongue

      looks forward,

                 always

 from where birth

  hand forms clay,

analyzes weep of

               the

   shadow’s ongoing

 gray… what this

    constant calls

                body,

  we examine

  our own to

         answer

   why bone

 is strong yet

            weak

 when its language

becomes burden

  becomes blurred,

 unforgiving?…

          with

  

now, the wing of

  glowing night, the melody

 haunts and the dead

    holds the halo

                  still,

  distance speaks

 into the circled gold

    calling toward a

  specific clarity

   what was then is

 now in the handmade

    folding

                         identity

 presents in the

  empathy this life travels          

 

     toward this night

  now

           aflame