Through the window, peaks,
Which to me indoors reveal
The gradient climb ahead.
Stretched muscle fibers
And in my mind, firmness found,
A peak’s vision forth.
But I stand from within an imbedded circle,
And just as sure as the front lawn sidewalks,
So do the ideals of the circle.
From the center to primavera’s fields
The ideals fruition could perpetuate,
But between, the concrete drowns,
Are the sturdy boots lost.
Wholes in man’s mind gape,
Stuffed frantically with disintegrating substance.
The meadows wave free past the gap, if there I can arrive.
A run through the fibers is now. It is outside of motive’s ruin.
From the peak, tomorrow.
The lake’s breast thickens sweet,
But between the circle and the grass,
Where what is real and what is consequential
Dry up as the newborn without suck.
Not because of the mother’s neglect,
But the son’s insisting that better ways he knows.
The lake is nourished by the canyon’s flow,
Which streams from the peaks,
By the window I see,
In the imbedded circle from which I stand.
Yesterday’s body in the field
Is today’s grass,
But the concrete body is never more.
Sean Watson is a student of Latin American Studies at BYU who found
power in poetry at a young age. Poetry to him is animism, from human
beings to the walls and meadows they inhabit. He will be spending the
summer at the University of Cambridge researching.
“Provo” is an excerpt from Sean’s longer poem titled “Primavera’s Rise on Falls Mechanical Flake.” You can visit his blog here.