When I had my vision
like the dark structures
of communication
turning somewhat lucid
I thought these
borrowed breaths
could picnic
for a century
and that distance
could allow the windmills
to stall and dry
into an afternoon's landscape.
And my dear child
will you ever know
how I saw the great
ohio ember
the rain move
like a hand with its palms
raised
the admission of the strange
the fuzz
that one sees
looking across the impermanent shore.
This is the mystery
that I am doing to myself.
No comments:
Post a Comment