We’ve never been a good fit
as I’ve skimmed across your surface
scratching at dust
looking for entry
The humus of my life is enough
to sustain each season.
Never enough it seems
to grow roots.
~
They counseled me,
” Don’t forget to breathe
when the trees
lose their leaves”
~
I watched those last brazen greens
that were stunned to new growth
by the sun warmth and rain of falling days,
their wildness ignoring immoral reason.
I harvested their leaves for winter teas.
Good medicine for this winter of my life.
~
The pulse now lies below
retreating
recollected
tucked in for reflection
networks of roots resting,
arms around each other.
~
When I too was brazen
I would empty myself with nights of hard drinking,
or when resolve quickened for release,
with bouts of high fever
Unaware of the pulse below
and startled by the clacking of human engagement
that other seasons hid from view with warm promises.
~
Now I have covered that distance between my mind
my heart
and have become a nomad in this civilized wasteland
as I follow the shifts in my perceptions.
~
My skin is a porous coat
I wear
in all weather
Trees
pray
in all seasons.
””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””
When I went to re-post this poem I discovered that it had originally been published exactly a year ago on the same date. It’s good to listen again, poetry being such an amazing dialogue with self, with Other …
~