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.

“Creator Said” first appeared in Passager.

Posted in Blog.

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