PETER RILEY

Material Soul

Given to death and life, no choice,
fallen into these terms, born as the
tide bears the wave to its strike,
cut to bedrock, crest, charge the shore.
Given to this life carving itself out
of its knowledge and the earth
is a cup to which the lip fits, then
surely the senses’ final construct
moves through substance to the houses
of light, mutual devotion.

joined ot death; danger
specifies its fear, the message forms
its own access or nerve and behind
the point of contact percetion opens
onto a cleared space, a settlement, holding
people of all ages together –
the whole of life, is this shift
back, this rearing

and arrival, which leaves a mark,
a birth documentation or yell echoing
down the unliveable corridors and arcades
of transitional time.  Felsh scores lines
in the calcium slag of earth and the spirit
wakes, the needle enters the groove,
polar tension shakes the circuit, which
responds, gapes, tremors, issues
forth into the actos of day, for good. 
Peace is nothing without this resistance,
engaging distance beyond any possible
repair to the end, the inhabited city.

Peter Riley