Thursday 1 March 2018

Shining


Spring rises over skin first,
Achingly over fast ice, sun slicking
And lapping up what was thinly buried.
In the woods of Pennsylvania, the trees begin
To sweat with joy, in the places behind their faces,
They begin their slow communal humming
At the rejuvenation, the rebirth of all things.
Some part of me celebrates that all of this bursts
Awake, out of darkness and miraculous,
like a lover in the morning.
And some part of me can’t.
I am thumbing a heavy green stone hung
About my neck as a reminder and I wander
Through brambles and into thick thorns who’s hands
Clutch a Styrofoam cup and empty 40.
What was desperate becomes history.
How are we to know what we lose along the way?
The dead sing through jet fuel as well as
Streamed audio-- I hear them now
In the interminable muttering of the airport.
Last night, the moon was a cook
Slowly removing his clothes when he thinks
He is finally alone. It was so sweet and harsh I could
Not look away. The world is parched tonight,
Drinking rain and light alike, wanting to be filled up.
As the nights go on, I wonder whether
The seasons sing so they might catch us along,
Asking for harmony for us. Give yourself to sadness,
This warmth seems to say. Drink it up
As if it already makes up the vast part of your body.

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