Eric Ashford Poet Free verse

Translating Rumi

not through the tongue and its wind-spray
or the booming chest

but a soul moved by broken wings,
the whispers of ruined things
crushed by a cosmic tongue

here is a sparrow corpse
this is his poetry
catacombs of grubs
a wing bent stiffly up
the other
pounded into utterance

Rumi's spirit is riddled by flesh
it is blown through
the blare of broken lungs
not salted
on the suds of pious speech

but in the ruined breath
of sky shattering prayers

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