Twenty Speckles

The twenty dark speckles
on this tea-brown speckled egg are

twenty wandering planets
around a golden yellow star, are

twenty fingertips and toes
pushing sky and earth apart, are

twenty closed dimensions
wrapped warm in each other’s whorls, are

twenty hurtling photons
unsure of how to act, are

twenty enchanted oak leaves
bewitched to look like gold, are

twenty purely observant crows
perched on a library roof, are

twenty huffs and twenty puffs
to blow down a little pig’s house, are

twenty black-as-midnight cats
scrapping on a star-crossed path, are

twenty trivial trinkets
that I misplaced in my youth, are

twenty lies and twenty times
that I told the truth, are

twenty tiny hand-made hearts
turning on a workman’s lathe, are

twenty tarnished silver coins
ten short of just enough, are

twenty strikes to the flesh of its womb
from a serpent’s first egg tooth, are

twenty nights, night after night,
waking cold to the same dream, are

twenty heavy judgements stacked
for a soul on a weighing scale, are

twenty billion, billion miles
between two lonely worlds, are

twenty crumbling headstones
in a crumbling church’s yard, are

twenty demigods vying for
a place among the stars, are nothing

but twenty dark speckles
on a tea-brown speckled egg.

END

“Twenty Speckles” © 2017 by Dafydd McKimm. All rights reserved.

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