The Sun Gathers Form

A Prompt Poem for Poetry Month 2026

For this year’s poetry month in April the wonderful online literary journal, Epistemic Lit, held a one-sentence poem contest. A one-word prompt was shared online each day and participants posted their entries on social media.

I started the month strong, but then had a PSC flare on April 5 and ended up hospitalized by April 20th. I was very sick, but writing a one-sentence poem almost every day felt possible. Honestly, I think the process kept me sane through the entire month’s health ordeal.

Four of my one-sentence poems were chosen for their special poetry month edition. You can read—and hear—all 30 winners here: https://epistemiclit.com/nationalpoetrymonth-one/

Most Canadian literary magazines don’t accept previously published work—including pieces shared on social media—so I decided to edit my 30 one-sentence poems into one long poem and share it here. You may find some symptomatology writing in this piece given just how sick I was while I was writing some of the entries.

The Sun Gathers Form

The morning opens with birdsong
& I find my breath nestled between bedclothes
each wrinkle smoothed into release
the spectacles of sunrise & bright sky
melodies from tiny round bodies alighting in trees your hands on my skin.

I engulf you in the chasm of my arms
each touch a new depth
each breath a new ocean
threads spun & woven, the edges of my bones softened by my skin
as fibres soften with handling, time, & movement
tattered cuffs at my wrists
I wrap your edges in strips of cotton so you will not fray in your restless sleep
stitch this binding with sharp needles of protection
small cathedrals
the buttresses that honeycomb inside our bones marrow transepts
place each rock, each shell, each dried body
in this wooden box—a collection of intuitions
of nature calling your heartstrings.

Each tooth a standing stone
each bite breaking bread
each taste a suspended memory
each grain the chicken pecks a letter, a poem in a circle, a divination
to summon the will to surrender to each moment—an exhalation, an exaltation
the spring wind finally warm
with each melt I detect more greenness in the air
cotelydon wings volatile on the breeze
the script of mycelium leaves traces hiding in cool earth—words or light?

Colour called through ground & branches
red & green quickening roots, leaves, scents
thunderheads on the horizon, the sight of distant rain
& the light oh, the awe of opaline light.

Each shadow a shift in the corner of my eye
a recognition of what can be hidden
what can be softened
what can be true
waves in the air all around us, ripples we walk through
our solid bodies shift frequencies, hearts oscillating
the sun heats our lungs
pneuma slow & steady
pass this torch to the world
through bright eyes, calm days, minuscule stitches
& in knowing what is beneficial
quietly press piano keys then hum those sympathetic strings
to brightness, to eloquence, to stars.

The crust of the earth breaks open violently, ash fills the sky
& we gaze at the shift from golden sunsets into purple & red
a thousand orange petals fallen at our feet, gold dusted
our steps resound the sun
the hot bloom
of fever, the rustle then quake of chills
jaw strung so tightly you could play it like a harp.

Tiny scratches on my skin, rifts from my nails, this morning’s minute scabs
scrape this husk with fingernails until it sloughs off its yellow skin
such brightness beneath enervated with gold, with red, with viability
each gourd organ-shaped
acorn squash heart, zucchini pancreas, butternut liver
kabocha uterus full & undulant like the moon
each bulbous rounding
each layer
each scent of earth & sun gathers light gathers liquid gathers form.

I sense rain on the horizon
fill myself with air so I am buoyant on the water
a swollen body that catches currents
sway & return, draw circles
sway & return, draw breath
sway & return, draw the centre we always come back to.

In my fatigue I press against strong winds contrary to my path
I climb uphill with each movement
deceptively agile
each step a feint until I sink into the earth again, a heavy thing rooted in soil
every thought a sudden pocket in the fog
a wake of bone-fed birds, cracks of blue beaks to marrow
psychopomp wings wide to lead the dead.

The portal vein of the human liver. From The Physiological Anatomy and Physiology of Man by Robert Bentley Todd (1859)

Current work

I’m continuing my work on my made of starstuff embroidery and now that I’m back to being able to write and edit in earnest I’ll continue to work on my Four Seasons Mitosis Sampler pattern. More information on those in my last newsletter.