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


hungry


LPC8/8/08

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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