Tavye Neese

Giving Backbone

I weave you a new spine,
use reeds, brown grasses,
erect cords that are giving.

Rigid man, bend like a shaft of wheat.
Take pleasure in wind that causes sway
and drop your worry like hardened husk.

Your vertebrae are dormant,
in need of undulations, spirals.
Remember the Dervish you were,

your head slightly cocked,
smiling into oblivion.
Forget your body as stiff as tusk.

Listen to the flexion of my fingers
binding straw into column.
Warm yourself from their burning.