(for my grandmother)
This morning I rose
at a strange sensation of
having been waken
by something outside of me
and yet inside of me
at the same time,
thought it was not merely time
that could contain it.
Something was green outside,
a wall of bark and shadows
that crowned a bunch of flowers
so tiny I did not know
until I was lured by something
to go barefoot, across the threshold
of my dream, and look.
Here lake water lapped against
the unmoist soil, the concrete
of my heart, which was so not like the
place on which my foot met
the edge of roots
that captured sunshine into
its dark and burgeoned
this grove which hid itself
so well inside the expanse of
a field that would remind me
of rice paddies and the fragrance
from grains, clear and transluscent in a
pool of warm broth, waiting for me
inside the house.
No comments:
Post a Comment