Tuesday, August 5, 2008

a poem emerges

the whole body of things

he comes to her every morning

sweet, plump and hungry

I write a poem of despair

from a sea of wanderings

nibbling at tender treats

underground in raw caverns

where unturned thoughts waver

every plump morning

he comes, sweet and hungry

the river goes underground to cool

I write a poem of despair

from the dry wasted sand

screaming in the wind

hungry, he comes to me

the whole body of things

wandering under, sliding above

ripped by heat, seared by elements

eroded over timeless season

morning comes plump and sweet



1 comment:

Beth B said...

How beautiful and moving! Something I'll sit with for awhile. I know I'm not yet grasping the full meaning, but I am deeply touched as I read it--longing, fear, comfort, unmasking, and renewal.

With love,

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