Holding

(words from first and last lines, Elizabeth Cantwell, Nights I Let the Tiger Get You)

Rain on the roof, strange applause.

He leans at the door, burning to

decode the world of water, the scales

of its voice ever changing — snaking

storms, the turbulence of wind,

lightning, and after, the sound it can

trigger. It all moves, a dark river,

that tiger in the skull with its hunger,

its anticipation. He watches, on fire

for a parting curtain, a wide

clean window to a deeper

wilder knowing.

This poem is part of a series, a prolonged challenge I set for myself. Vocabulary for each poem was taken from first and last lines of a poetry collection on my shelf. (The source appears beneath the poem’s title.) As I composed these, I allowed a couple diversions from the set vocabulary. I changed a verb tense or form of a word as needed. And on a few occasions, a word was added to complete a thought. I think of these as collage poems.