Creator Said – Sue Ann Simar

The rain weeps rust through summer heat,
calls out its praise for greenery. “Who,”
I ask, “is my inventor?”

Scarlet shreds of paper light

Hold me in this double space

Read me into asteriks

Snow or star or

* One frame of reference

* One burnt-up meteor

Creator Said

I want to lie on the walls of the museum

*

Confined to the wall and confirmed by the wall,
increased by the wall and recognised.
The ripple of these fingertips
and underneath a fingertip,
and through an eye and in a dream,
the structure of a strand of sleep,
an object and an observation,
Birth, because I visualize a body.

Sue Ann SIMAR
“Creator Said” first appeared in Passager.

Posted in Blog.

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