poetry moves the rocky mountains of my soul, bring light and wisdom in my moments of folly, bring harmony to my essence

sylvia plath

• ariel 27.10.1962

Stasis in darkness, then the substanceless blue, pour of tor and distances.

God’s lioness, how one we grow, pivot of heels and knees!— The furrow.

Splits and passes, sister to, the brown arc ff the neck I cannot catch,

Nigger-eye, berries cast dark, hooks—

Black sweet blood mouthfuls, shadows. Something else

Hauls me through air— Thighs, hair; flakes from my heels.

White. Godiva, I unpeel— Dead hands, dead stringencies.

And now I foam to wheat, a glitter of seas. The child’s cry

Melts in the wall. And I am the arrow,

The dew that flies suicidal, at one with the drive into the red

Eye, the cauldron of morning.