World to a child is a rotating
kaleidoscope in the eye
of the bird, magical jigsaw
of space dots and speckles, 
past and present, all this I, 

deep furrow to the end of it, 
loss and bleed of my own
choosing. My heart is more
bluish than loud knocking– 
I once thought it was. Some
nights behind my eyes I see

the faint shape of my mother. 
She is so small now. We used
to walk among birch trees,  
forest stretching over us.
The old merry-go-round
is half-trampled in a stampede
of bitterweeds. Time sets in. 

Anything that begins midway
will take             twice as long,
yet half that time what lies
nearest sends out an intermittent
ripple which moves the heart.  
I have been needing, I have
been waiting for a slow exile

into dust treading dust, 
cocoon for a blue dream to die
in. Curse passing, trespassed, 
ache-speak muted in stone doubt. 
Will silence remember the echo-
ring around it? There was never

               as much peace between us, 
as in time of war.


Daniel Reiss currently lives in Amsterdam. His poetry has appeared in Pennsylvania Literary Journal, Ascent Aspirations Magazine, and Assisi under the name Daniel Nemo.