poem 268 of a poem a day for 2012

between a satyr, tree and stone

she said I’ll lift your name

to the wind and I said

let me bite my way in

while the sap

I lean back against

smears into where

my skin has been cut

and scratched raw and ready

by the gnarl of its bark

that knows my name

that knows the snort

of the stag in the misted-

humid air of the old cemetery

that is just humanity’s

circular desire

that is just the rain

wading through

our ancient statuary

to feel each corpuscle

of arch howling madness

that fills me as I call out

to the velvet sky

and I palm time

to find every part of you

is waiting too

for me to ride

EJR ©