The man who turned inside-out
In a sudden wind
his mind turned inside-out
like an umbrella.
He could feel the spokes of the real
bend, groan, and break like the spine of that umbrella.
He could feel his own heart,
his veins, his blood, his breath
as if they were at last his own.
Words beheld the things they imagined,
poems dropped gently with the leaves,
and books read deep into their readers.
Then another wind
turned the world inside-out,
and he blossomed into darkness and light.
He heard stars whisper like children,
the night bless lovers with planets conjoined,
and dandelions chant silver to the moon.
Now he lets the storms blow through him,
the sun enlighten, and the moon dream him
to the silence of his happy bones.
Sean Lause teaches courses in Shakespeare,
Literature and the Absurd and Literature and
the Detective at Rhodes State College in Lima,
Ohio, USA. His poems have appeared in The
Minnesota Review, Another Chicago Magazine,
The Beloit Poetry Journal, European Judaism,
The Pedestal, The Alaska Quarterly,
Illuminations and Poetry International.