Material music hardens, takes form

chanting of a world disassembled

invoked by the remote song of a bird

that once was. Harmony perspiring 

from feathered body matter – knowing 

eyes listen to past life encoded

in petrified shapes. Art

a futile attempt like science

to grasp the past, mesh it

into the present – regardless

eyes to come

will decipher melodies

of winged choirs soaring above

inscribed on rock surface.

Martin Breul is a writer and poet from East Germany who loves coffee, books and paper. He studied Literature in Glasgow and Toronto, and is currently pursuing a MA at McGill University from his desk in Scotland. His poetry has previously appeared in The Wild WordThe Common BreathWet GrainThe Honest Ulsterman and others. He also contributed academic work to [X]position and has his first short story coming forth in the Literary Impulse. You can follow him on Twitter @BreulMartin

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