Kevin Finn

The Meridians

Our world is slanted.

Like black top, it delivers
the tires, the corroded steel —

(the tempered metal).

I reach for a blackened sky,
come down like a white feather.

You reach                          there
        find me brittle,
cast                                    aside.

And now, the cat’s rheumy eyes;
you let it out, seem awake in your sleep.

I am awake in my sleep!

Dreams take us to where the child
lies between us, slumbers.

We whimper — currents in our bodies, meridians.

What does the road hold for us?

The curl of grass?

We hope for bright light, a rich sun
to move through curtains,

blankets across our legs —

my hands are like that,
like lightning rods —

it’s simple to become anything.

I watch as the magnets touch your shoulder,
wake her and caress her temples.

Sometimes, a sparrow will crush
the seed you put out for it, sometimes

the squirrel, a thief, gorges,

and nothing is left.

In my mind, I have the spark of gears.
I shut your eyes, a slight touch of my hand:

it has just begun to shine through.

Kevin Finn is a poet, visual artist, and recording artist living in Pittsburgh, PA, USA. His website is