Saturday, June 15, 2013

Having Walked A Long Time

Beneath rhubarb leaves the size of elephant ears, water runs. The Herefords look up as I pass, the square batten of their faces fixed on what only seems real. After rain, the fence steams and finches gather at the feeder. I miss her.

One reclines in sentences the way they might in arms they have seen but never felt. What is it we mythologize the most? In the distance a bald eagle circles and chickens squeeze quickly beneath the shed. Honey bees everywhere.

Victims abound, but we are past that now. The horse stumbles a little coming up from the pasture. Something insists we take life this way and not another and we acquiesce. What else is there to question?

He listens carefully to the same song over and over, letting the fierce melody locate him precisely. Some barns need painting, others simply need to be used. Lose nothing in the bottle. Having walked a long time down tracks on which trains no longer run, I do long to teach.

This - and no other - kiss. How I long to escort you anywhere! The mourning doves - who mate for life, you know - flutter west, as if carrying some essential message. You always have a say, beloved: simply speak.

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