Post by moseley on Nov 25, 2012 12:39:20 GMT -6
under the shade of the creek trees
she stood from under that cloak and
her head blocked the sun as if the light
were emanating from her hair
amidst the air filled with honeysuckle nectar
and the fresh kiss of sweetgrass
along that fencerow and wading
onto the slippery cold rocks of that creek
she held my hand walking down that road
and my world was innocence, it was pure
and in her face was contenance of sweet placidity
then I stand in this world and grab a handful of dirt
and let it fill between my fingers
and I imagine that I am there, where time has stopped
where no watch can work, no anger can penetrate
no hunger can satiate or stave, no death
no breathe, in but one sweet second of the bliss of being
and all my principle senses are met
with a perfect alchemy of a moment long since gone
and all the more remembered
Stands now the crow and I, evaluating our symmetry
and pondering where flight ends and I commend my soul
to the sun filled sky beyond the limits of the blue
and I rain down in every molecule,
to be the cold water that kisses my feet
for time and age have become a language
that drives the vocabulary and tables and charts
for you, dear sweet hallowed dark bird
comforted by the knowing that in one moment
you can take to the sky, fly in your design
and fulfill no purpose more than just the joy of floating
and blot out the sun in my periphery
and be my next eclipse, but for a season
until we both meet the harvest where we will one day
succomb to the inevitable law of gravity...
but dear crow, fly, fly, fly..for it is not today...
she stood from under that cloak and
her head blocked the sun as if the light
were emanating from her hair
amidst the air filled with honeysuckle nectar
and the fresh kiss of sweetgrass
along that fencerow and wading
onto the slippery cold rocks of that creek
she held my hand walking down that road
and my world was innocence, it was pure
and in her face was contenance of sweet placidity
then I stand in this world and grab a handful of dirt
and let it fill between my fingers
and I imagine that I am there, where time has stopped
where no watch can work, no anger can penetrate
no hunger can satiate or stave, no death
no breathe, in but one sweet second of the bliss of being
and all my principle senses are met
with a perfect alchemy of a moment long since gone
and all the more remembered
Stands now the crow and I, evaluating our symmetry
and pondering where flight ends and I commend my soul
to the sun filled sky beyond the limits of the blue
and I rain down in every molecule,
to be the cold water that kisses my feet
for time and age have become a language
that drives the vocabulary and tables and charts
for you, dear sweet hallowed dark bird
comforted by the knowing that in one moment
you can take to the sky, fly in your design
and fulfill no purpose more than just the joy of floating
and blot out the sun in my periphery
and be my next eclipse, but for a season
until we both meet the harvest where we will one day
succomb to the inevitable law of gravity...
but dear crow, fly, fly, fly..for it is not today...
