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:
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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