Inca Dreams
Caron Andregg
“The Inca word for poetry was the same for pottery and
antelope; the former because of its transformation out of
clay and the latter because it bounds away the moment you
surprise it.”
- Hieronymus Anonymous
Awake on the naked plain
In the cold-fire of dreaming
Focused and intense as the concave mirror
Behind the arc which concentrates the spark
Into a light so bright it blinds.
Soul blown hotter than a potter’s kiln
Blasts your flesh to ash then down
To bright and molten glass
Woven through a filigree of bone.
Poised on the naked plain
Between flight and immolation
And only the coals know
If you’ll bound away in quick surprise
Or stand fast before the fire
And be transformed.
