Thursday, June 21, 2012


You are old, luv

you let yourself get old when
there is no need for that--
the crumbling spine, the
forward incline

While the light is still young
in the forest, laid down
new each morning
with no recollection
of "was"
Forget-me-nots spry as ever
in the grasses know
nothing of "before"
Just come
Again and again just

come, looking, leaning
toward sun.

Oh benevolent, indiscriminate sun:
see what you have made! Wild
strawberry, cinnamon fern, glade.

Oh raiment of kindness of
everlasting! You are
breathing it, you are
walking on it now, luv.

And the warbler brings it to your ears
the dragonfly to your skin.
There is music here,
there is music everywhere.
Let it out, let it


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