Reasons to cry will always
slide down stems of plants as though the light that shines answers to earth's thirst. Like grazing animals some sadness never leaves this field of green rooted as it is in aromatic rot of clouds and leaves. You have lain in places where I have never wept. If told now I had three years I would lace them round your ankle and follow where you tiptoe along the edge of bearing.
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The bird flew into his mouth
as though it were the opening of a cave circled three times round the first chamber before dropping into the second and third then plunged down swiftly and finally out through the bottom of his foot and he could see all the root hairs of the trees lit for that second like lightning and then he was standing again, in daylight the lingering leaves of the aspen were yellow though the last season he could remember was spring and when he coughed, a single feather the color of chestnut and honey issued into the air and he followed it, because that was simplest and he liked how it wafted so quietly through the first falling snow.
So far in this poetry blog, I have been sharing what probably would be called "nature poetry". Most of my poems I would happily allow to be thus categorized, and it's true that the overwhelming majority of my poems are written while out on the earth, usually out on the wild earth encountered during a backpacking trip. I like to think that added to "nature", however, there are some "contemplative" qualities, some "archetypal" qualities, perhaps even some "existential" or "cosmological" qualities.
But through the years, I have also enjoyed doing some writing that is more closely allied to the human social realm (I haven't always been a hermit!). For example, there is a cumulative collection of poems about being a father, and there is also a collection about being a lover. I thought today I'd do "something different", get a little more intimate in the human realm, and share a poem from the love collection. Free And so it is foolish to ask where is it now what we had or what you and he had or what anyone once was when they were not who they are now because even that slips away before our skin barely touches it. Your smell is soft as water and the cloths you hung to wall this midnight tent could be mountain lakes they are so still. Your belly pools with candlelight and soon a fine panting of moisture has risen to your surface everywhere at once it shimmers from your lips and chest and if ever there were dark trees their height does not impinge here. Swimming, swimming this is a bath of shadowless moon. And now over us you have hung a ceiling drape of stars. If one by one they fall, no matter – this night will go on, shoreless and free. |
AuthorWalker Abel Archives
July 2017
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