Span of index, arms weakened
Rambles upon wrinkles, I am
Pressed between Earth and
Air…..Flow upon my continent’s
Systems, scattered over ranges
Puddles flirt with thirst, Lakes,
Mock the drought of my
Throat, Reservoirs dribble…
For My body is a gathering
Of harvests from the oncoming
Winter, the divining rod dust
Only Scent lingers, eternal pine
I look to the snow, Taste
The season, a melted past of
Garnished greens, grays, and suns
Hearty robin, ever alive, steam
Floating from her beak, Nest
Built of water, sticks, and mud
Her Feathers, wisdom’s movement
Lay upon my words, a slow worm
Snagged from frosty grass
Scrawled black upon the field
Desert letters made of tree knot
Symbols smeared / slants of rain
The blue, blue liquid cleanses
Meaning, shot out of innards
The words, worms always
Cut in two, the clay I am
My eyes, lids nearly glued shut
Begging for preservatives
Or the relieving thought of
A connection to moisture
That will keep words moving
My wet hand through dirt.
Pain rides up between thumb
Finger, Palm and Lifeline.
My arm is silent, swollen.
Language is oil now, dug
Dug, deep under my nails
“…a melted past of Garnished greens, grays, and suns…” LOVED this!
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Thanks!!
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I love this:
‘My body is a gathering
Of harvests from the oncoming
Winter’
Very nice!
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Thanks
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I love the alliteration
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You write very well.
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Lovely!
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It is gluttony! and beyond humanity like an aura. Thanks.
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Beginning with the striking picture of the knot this drew me in. I love.” Language is oil now dug deep ..under my nails.” Your extended metaphor and the images are wonder – ful.
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Thanks
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An ethereal poem (for me) about the nature of language and the language of nature, wonderfully strange at times – reminds me somewhat stylistically of the San Francisco Renaissance, somewhere between modernist and postmodern. Very engaging!
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Thanks so much.
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Stunning!!! Gorgeous inagery…
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Thanks
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This is my kind of poem, it brings me back to that Paleolithic, primal earth-awareness that is so easy to lose. And thanks for the follow!
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I am sitting here listening to the last breaths of my father and I am re-reading much of your poetry. What a beautiful way with words you have and thank you for keeping me company during my vigil.
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This is probably the most important message I have received since starting this blog. Thanks so much Connie. Its timing couldn’t have been more perfect, as I moved my computer outside my backdoor to listen and feel the breaths of the wind, which is helping me with another poem. I just saw a hummingbird attempt to get a late meal.
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