“…a poem is a way of happening, a mouth.” (W.H. Auden)

Living

A sort of quantum mischief 

that answers to its own logic, 

even and especially when 

no question has been posed, 

we call being, sentient, alive.

Life’s blank delicacy

is a fine gauze dressing 

we mark with our first breath,

tear through with our last.

Living is to be this side 

of what we imprudently

imagine, an impregnable blind.

We are but sea-bleached stones 

warmed by the sun, held in 

each other’s palm, loose 

in each other’s heart, 

and miming unanswered 

murmurations,

we startle the sky with our flight. 

From Tug of Blue (Dedalus Press). Eleanor Hooker’s third collection of poetry, Of Ochre and Ash, is forthcoming with Dedalus Press. You can read more about Eleanor here.