poem 261 of a poem a day for 2012

on paper, I was drawing little waves

these little

curly lines

that looked like

an endless

sea of breasts

I was feeding   

my absolution

milking my hunger

to return

to the tides in

gnarled barking trees

in their tines

I was time

slowed down

especially

in the maples

in their sylvan disguise

all the woods know

every house of humanity

is mostly a facsimile

to their impermanence

they garden entropy

march them with milkweed

and lamb’s ear in August

oaring into the divide

glide curling last night’s

warm sheeted rain

woven southerlies

drunk on soft wool

and tender bites

and the certainty

of writhe adhesion

in league with

Autumnal preparations

our bones are reparations

we consecrate for every carve

that a simple flush of skin

can bleed with

when we let go

of ourselves

to hold something

so tightly

so very close to us

that tears and rain

are the very same thing

EJR ©