Monday, May 4, 2009

Experimenting with Poetry

At Little Lake

OK, you’re not here but walk with me anyway
in this scraped-out forest
with its grimy snow
and its wet wet wood
and its rotten leaves

OK, you’re not here but you’re pointing out
the lime candy lichen
raccoon-paw puddles
that raven glistening on a black soaked branch

OK, you’re not here but I can
hear water sucking over stones
see the fox who sees me back
feel the blunt back edge of the slicing wind

OK, you’re not here but spring soon will be

1 comment:

  1. my lover took a painting in process one time and said 'it's done, this is mine' and hung it on the wall.
    lose timidity, hang this one.