Archive | December, 2017

Pithmaking

12 Dec

 

I do not measure
my heart in sunrise
and sunset,
though the glory
of colorcoming
and lightleaving plays it’s part
in the drama of days.
But in leaf and limb,
inhaling and exhaling.
In spans of inevitable green
and glorious gold
before fallingdoubt and near deathsleeping.
I learned to love
from oaks
who know this secret,
a faith coded into their ringbones
repeating return.
They keep the soft velvet
beneath,
the touchbend and retreat
from sky, a clockcase
full of
freedom and foreboding.
Yet adore the sun,
like a fickle lover
here one day, gone the next,
needing and abiding equally.
Damned delicious sun!
Longing is to sigh again, green.
What can they do
but live,
dressed in lush love
or bear quiet cold
in naked dignity.
till his return?
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