Wednesday, March 01, 2006

I retreat to the comfort of a beautiful day...

This poem will not be written (at least, not without a fight)


This path will not be beaten
Each pedicel springs
tendril-green
each leaf an unfurled hand
with force enough to crush
a road to
pebbles

This page will not be turned
Its ink will day-by-day uncoil
shed its skin and
with each moment
wind anew into knots of
raw and glistening
words

This stone will not be carved
No blow can burst its basalt shell
its core emerges, grain by grain
every layer petal- bright
washed smooth
by the still or stormy
tide

These feet and hands
these half-closed eyes believe
in fear
they know the cry
of loneliness and rage

and yet here, in this instant
they trust only in
the parting of our lips


this kiss is not a seal


It is a spark to fire the fusion of
your element and mine
this slow becoming
this embrace will seal an alchemy
of time


rf- 2003-07-12

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