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
sign up to receive a new poem-a-day in your inbox
Our ancestors in the earth are not
Ashamed of us. The strong smell
Of dirt, the delirious rabbits, the
Clocks are all disappearing. A
Prehistoric gift acquires the smell
Of salt. I grasp onto winter’s tail.
Some water plants are lying around.
Smell & taste, I have had good
Luck in love. The slippery roads,
The capricious numbers on a blazing
Road, meet me at the forest’s edge
Where we can go with our legs
Lopped off, strangers to the clean
Teeth and tongue of outward happiness.