Carolyn Guinzio

A Choir of Engines

                                          
The conveyances
are blinding.
Without, the light

in a dog’s eyes
as it tries
to find a scent

not yet sifted
out in drizzle.
Within the eye,

strands of light
pull into blur.
What are you

not missing?
Markers and wild
hogs. Our scarred

eye will sweep
after the dust
of light, a lame

deer waits, uncertain
in the margin.
The moving connects

to the moving.
The moving connects
to the still.
​

---

Random & Melodic

I am trying to find the sound of a voice
in a silence: a silence never the same,
never different. Forcing the dry dirt aside,

an ant may wince at the dissonant cries
of a wren, but the path to the ear is clear
through storms of sound for some.

To perceive what we already know,
oh, in the ocean of ear, the known voice
is clear over the roars, the roof shingles

peeling away into sky. The dry dirt stings
the eyes. The sound of things dropping down
to the road is known, and the known is nothing.





--
Carolyn Guinzio’s third book, Spoke & Dark, was chosen by Alice Quinn for the To The Lighthouse/A Room Of Her Own Prize and will appear in 2012 on Red Hen Press. She is also the author of West Pullman, winner of the 2004 Bordighera Poetry Prize, and Quarry (Parlor Press, 2008). Her work has appeared in Blackbird, Colorado Review, Indiana Review, New American Writing, Puerto Del Sol, and Smartish Pace, among other journals. She is the editor of an online journal of innovative writing and images by women called Yew (yewjournal.com).