Monday, January 2, 2017

here is the fertile wilderness

although I have been here before
and spoken these same words to you

although I have trusted everyone
and been wrong    in that blind trust

although I have failed over and over
these matters fade besides discovery 

    the glory of the landscape speaks to me
outside the snow tongue licks its fur coat of victory

the trees lay up their white undergarments
and snap their fingers in the wind

the bushes bloom with ash
and water    the clouds balloon

in their factories of silks 
  nothing will last long I know

and each day presages
the end that is ours     but you must not be weary

that the world keeps cracking
and that the ice on the marsh holes

instead watch the birds as they leap
in an abandon   that cannot be imitated

and watch the berries blacken in their hands of thorns
watch how the rose hips curdle in their bowls of red

make a path full of small images
these are what you need when you are tired

and when the world seems like a stone
laid on the bed of silence   you are not alone

here is the fertile wilderness
and the snacking chickadee

here is the path
that only you see

and here is the dog barking in the yard
here is the family who is a glove around you

here is the new year falling
into the pattern of the old

and here is the snow like silver dust

you must not be sad
so long as there are images

and song
you are not bent

but sighing
in content
The Book Of Love - Martin Kerr (Cover) Live at the Citadel Theatre

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