Points of Diffusion

138 JEANNE STAUFFER-MERLE POINTS OF DIFFUSION The swan knows the truth with its bowed neck tender but resolved— that reach of white that slenders in and out of a shadow so severe in its insistence it blinds. The crow knows the truth. It walks step by step by step— feels the ground solid and sinking between each intention that exists and disappears at each moment that cannot forget its own truth. I fray and grind. I rough through the terrain of myself to where there is finally an open meadow glistened and startled but empty of day or night— swan or crow. I do not know the truth but I remember this: I wasn’t always a leveler of birds— an accurate rifle. (Once upon a time the sky broke apart everywhere.) (Once a butterfly trembled out of my throat.) ...