Day turning on a bed of nails

Sun licking cloud lines yellow,
wings unfolding, twenty crows
rise in the shape of tree, then sail

down to land in darkening grass,
high beams soon sweeping over
the armless statues of dusk.

All week sensing the music waiting
in the nails and wood surrounding
the remains of a lover’s façade 

as he rebuilt the steps to a horizon,
she drives to the shore flickering
in a theater of stillness, seeking

a moonrise as shadows deepen.
Their shared goal, tumbling
their light-filled agate

into a greater beauty,
one strong enough to hold a door
open against any wind.

She peels stasis from sky,
simply adding four initials
in wet sand, tide carrying gifts

from the depths,
wood turned to stone.
The fog mare canters in.


Born and raised in Charleston, S.C., Charles Thielman moved to Chicago and was educated at red-bricked universities and on city streets. Thielman has enjoyed working as a social worker, truck driver, city bus driver, and enthused bookstore clerk.

Married on a Kauai beach in 2011, a loving grandfather for five free spirits, Thielman’s work as poet and shareholder in an independent Bookstore’s collective continues! All that he perceives becomes driftwood fed to a kiln.

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