All Things Invisible

In wide open spaces
I confess my love
for all things missing.

I have no secrets,
no wounds, no burning
destiny, no sacred tablets
to deliver me

from invisible.

There is a story
about a boy
who swallowed light

and it ate him
from the inside

until he became


On the subway,
a woman cried out


and burst
into flames.

No one noticed
the fire
of her skin.


Rosemary Nissen-Wade said...

I love your gift of understatement.

And I begin to feel highly self-conscious. How come I'm (almost) the only one making rapturous comments here?

Perhaps everyone else feels that your words are so complete, there is nothing more to be said. Comments can only be bathetic, as I feel mine to be. And yet, I want to acknowledge the deep satisfaction each of your poems gives me.

I do wish for a system like the one on MySpace, where I could just leave "2 kudos" (the most allowed) on every poem. :)

Rachel Phillips said...

Rosemary. I want to thank you again for you supportive comments! I really should be more pro-active in linking this site...
but I am still working on form etc. and feel like my work is still rather immature regarding the skill of construction. But I want to let you know that it is very encouraging to receive your comments. Thank you!