THE UNCIVIL SHAPE OF PINECONES

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from the crotch of each branch
they hang above us in pairs

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from what I’ve read of the old lore
the right and left testicle

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are also aspects of god
shattered and holy and withholding light

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linked by the thinnest of threads
to what is infinite and unknowable

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or so I’ve seen in those holy diagrams of the body
mapped by minds given no rest

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from sadness or symmetry
wanting proof of what is not

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by pointing again and again to the visible
obsessed with the nearest object

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every detail backlit with possibility
a sense of light spreading its fingers

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between the branches before us
and above us they reoccur in clusters

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each attached to its sturdy wing
wooden blade keeping

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some central wildness hidden

in plain sight against the sky

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crowned turrets of a fortress
shielding the royal seed

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from that which would make conclusive
any single moment of unearthing

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that would attempt to do anything
to resist being consumed by that vision

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its shape waiting inside
for the necessary flame to open

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