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| Putnam Pond sunrise in the Adirondacks photo by Steve Bennet © |
poem says, the peaceful music will feed me your raunchy substrates
(down to being dirty minded me)
an old brick ranch
on a country road
with its cottage
and pond
on the back acres...
outside an early
century hill town-
once a mill town
now a maybe story
of if river knew
the silt did too
who was who
through and through...
poem says
the pages need be swept
each of their steps
leapt with wear...
where yesterday went
when nobody was looking
dreams might have known
morning has always
been empty cups
waiting in ritual
marsh reeds again...
the mist at dawn captures me
I am staring at you
with every literary ghost
in the caked grey ash
wanting to star
in the story
of these parts...
thirst came many times
barter, blood, trade and goods
what once was crackled
in a spit and spill-spackling
out of the hearts
of burning embers
I poked at inside
this field stone
fire pit and oven...
you are still here, threaded
to our last night
you are
trails of smoke
little convective words
the wind beginning
to curl while climbing
with the sun
over the trees...
frogs and jays stir
at the perimeter
of the pond
while a hungry egret
is a bent knee like me
a low moving tide note too
an overture for this awakening day...
EJR ©
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