Sunday, December 5

There was a tree

A small tree hung in the clear sky
on the hill from my off the path view. The
twilight hours were waiting for me.
The morning sun holds most of my memories
and its light reminds me: only
the bright ones worth keeping, only
the hard laboured sun slides are those
you take with you. But you can't take anything,
on another hill, in another time, and
between two gypsy spins, I heard once said.
So it all stays here, I say: In your heart
or hung outstretched, it's all there
between a small tree clear and the huge hill
of the morning's night sky.

1 Comments:

Blogger David said...

This one is special to me and I hope you can relate.

If You Should Ever Go Blind

When you were born
your vision was effervescent.
Dandelion fluff took wing in your mind
and songbird angels sang entrance hymns
as you walked into life’s cathedral each morning.

Do you recall those walls of red gray dawn
and ceilings of bluestone buff
in that holy place of yesterday?
Can you still reach back and lay your hand
on the bedrock faith you once held,
or on the courage with which you faced
every unknown thing?

Somewhere
someone has kicked you,
more than twice.
You may not recall exactly when
the sunsets turned to dishwater
or where the moon eclipsed your sun,
but at some point you started listening
to naysayers and dark hearts.

You need to give them your back.

You're better off walking alone
than walking with spirits who can’t see
life quivering in late November corn stalks
or those
who can't hear a shepherd’s voice
when the spring breeze whistles
through cottage eves.

You used to march with a song in your soul
but these days you seem to forget the words.
If you should ever go blind,
I’ll sing them to you
until we can see things together again.

July 7, 2005 at 4:41 AM  

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