Poem Hunter
San Sepolcro
(1950 / New York City, New York)

San Sepolcro

In this blue light
I can take you there,
snow having made me
a world of bone
seen through to. This
is my house,

my section of Etruscan
wall, my neighbor's
lemontrees, and, just below
the lower church,
the airplane factory.
A rooster

crows all day from mist
outside the walls.
There's milk on the air,
ice on the oily
lemonskins. How clean
the mind is,

holy grave. It is this girl
by Piero
della Francesca, unbuttoning
her blue dress,
her mantle of weather,
to go into

labor. Come, we can go in.
It is before
the birth of god. No one
has risen yet
to the museums, to the assembly

and wings--to the open air
market. This is
what the living do: go in.
It's a long way.
And the dress keeps opening
from eternity

to privacy, quickening.
Inside, at the heart,
is tragedy, the present moment
forever stillborn,
but going in, each breath
is a button

coming undone, something terribly
finding all of the stops.

User Rating: 2,3 / 5 ( 13 votes ) 5

Comments (5)

great one and finest POETESS really and wings- to the open air market. This is what the living do: go in. It's a long way. And the dress keeps opening from eternity great one
Sansepolcro is a town in the province of Arezzo, Tuscany (Italy) . In ancient times it was called ''Burgus Sancti Sepulchri'', being traditionally considered that it was founded around 1000 AD by two pilgrims who brought a stone from the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem.
Sansepolcro is the birthplace of the famous painter of the Early Renaissance Piero della Francesca whose world-known painting * ''The Resurrection'' is now in Sansepolcro's Museo Civico [* it is considered by many as one of the ''greatest paintings in the world''. Piero della Francesca's most famous work is the cycle of frescoes ''The History of the True Cross'' in the church of San Francesco in Arezzo.
Searching, hoping - try I - find I - hope, beyond this nest - your spread wings - gallant! - Balanced - soar away to then - the edge of ago - when my chirping eyes watched your dance with Eagle, rasping flesh by talon - softly falling - bleeding - so listlessly into that great purple majesty. Here lies I, bleached bones - mold stitched to the words of your nest... Waiting, hoping...... Jorie, your efforts seem so effortless, rather intensely colorful against the grey backdrop of all else. My wishes include being able to emulate this greatness in poetry. So wonderful. Thank you for sharing.
Many vivid moments that take me beyond the poem. Favorite lines 'each breath is a button coming undone' slows the movement even more following'stillborn'. Also 'snow having made me a world of bone' combining an outer and inner element. Very beautiful. I heard Jorie speak with her mother this evening and read some of her work. A wonderful evening of BIG MINDS.