On My Third Anniversary in New Jersey
It's the fern beyond the wind, the classic Eruptions. Night is a funnel that is overcome. Violence of signs beyond the pale. Stasis Has its own way, the hard work, the violence. Convalesce, convalesce in the green green World, in which you could hardly walk, But that was before, before life set its rhythms In its way. Passion is confused by silence. Gone are the slow horses, the wetness and the Going forth, that's made me whole again. A small room, a sandwich in the moonlight, Intermittently, I see a hummingbird at The flower box, and the great church bells Ring. This is the beginning. I lived in a small Room long ago. The soft earth beckoned me Here, and I stayed. There is a dearness about All of this, and though I want to be hungry Again, I find that I am filled. My legs fly into Summer, into the morning air and the leaves. So this is what peace is, no need to spiral In the twilight, no need to ask, season after Season, where are you now? And, should I go?
Copyright © 2012 by Noelle Kocot. Reprinted with permission of the author.