Translating Rumi
not through the tongue and its wind-spray
or the booming chest
but through broken wings
whispers of ruined things
crushed
into a wordless tongue
here is a sparrow corpse
this is his poetry
catacombs of grubs
a wing bent stiffly up
the other
pounded into utterance
spirit riddled by flesh
blown through
a blare of broken lungs
not salted
on the suds of speech
but in the ruined breath
of a shattered prayer
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2019
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