October 7, 2012

poem 367 of a poem a day for 2012

mensis October

nearing Fontinalia
I am blind hunting
my place with the geese
in the sky
they are paneling migration
to a Jesus in the trees
they are slip-streaming
the sharp clocks of wind
they carve directions
in the memory
of the scent of things
the tranquil formation
of their hollow bones
knows their hearts
are beating
without cessation

they are oiled
and feathering-back
the snow and rain
riding storm to storm
to the south again
one step ahead of the ice
pulling at the roots of blood
and desire to be
where the warm wears
everyone sheltered

I lose myself in their calls
their swoops and dips
leaking down tufts
when they land to rest
at the edge
of the brown reed-ed pond
that's as quiet in October
as ruins might be at night
away from the light
of civilization

when they take leave again
I want to leap with them
to let go into the sky
to find myself where
no one is watching
or expecting me to be
I want to lose myself
in this magnetic destiny
wing over wing

I want to sing
I want to tear open
every reason
why I can
why I long this way
why I rake my soul
in scattered seeds
why have I broken open
and began to crawl
into wombs again
why do I call out
silent exhales
to be feel at home
when the fog comes in
why has it taken me
so long to get here
why do I drink myself
to where time no longer
wants to know
who I am


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