Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Far and Free


Hushed and sullen you are beckoned by
the chant of pollen.

Screen door creaks, your creeping feet
patter, meek
under the stark sky of lost devotion.

In consolation
you stumble back into
the briers seeking
one particular flower
you smell lilacs
tulips daisies
you won't find me
you won't find me

I come from distant lands
wild horses,
endless sands,

lost
to
you
now

go turn your faucet handle
good and hard
so it won't drip
(you've been meaning to get that fixed)

and lie next to her
for God's Sake, don't stir.
Just be. Please.

I want every bit of me
impression, aura, memory
to be the scent of mulberry.

5 comments:

onesilentwinter said...

beautiful, words(stirring for sure) and great photo!

Beverly Ash Gilbert said...

Beautiful. So powerful 'beckoned by the chant of pollen'

cindy : quaint said...

i love your poetry. it makes me slow down.

♥ bfs~"Mimi" ♥ said...

Yes!
Love it.

♥♥♥

Claire said...

this took me somewhere far and brought me crashing back. i held my hand over my mouth to prevent the gasp from escaping.

your words have more power than you would ever know.