Sunday, August 30, 2009

Primary Colors and a Stick

Using primary colors and a stick
I said something too sad to name
while curled up in the grass
way back at the bottom of the garden
with my broken looking glass

I could hear the groan that wetted the space
as if I lay in the wisdom of ancient dirt
nodding yes as I eased out my hurt

Waiting for a sign from another place
I watched the slow drawing of a spider's lace
feeling particles of life hitting me like pins
I was weeping with the knowledge
of something deep within

To touch a part of me I felt along a rock
I was sure there would be nothing left
buried in the soft dirt the skunk made
looking for something too
to nourish the long bones
and shine of this impossible hunger
this need to fill
fill with what

Standing weaving strands of braided grass
the rushing wind was taking
within this flight of air
I tossed despair
then sudden joy was growing there
like morning sun caught in dance
in grass a laugh began to thrum
then swung me around the gate of time
not late but mine

No comments:

Post a Comment