10 July 2013

I Am

I Am

I am the cutting scent of cold water after
snowfall, falling with a silence so chill it
cracks mountain stones

I am the desolate cry of the unknown marsh
 bird, weeping my sorrow in the wild
wetlands marooned

I am the gnarled, twisty hands of bracken
that rise clutching at the edges of your
patchwork fields of wheat & corn & barley & rye

I am the little weed who cracks the
foundation of your very civilization and tells
of your coming destruction

For I will reclaim.

- Do you hear it? Do you hear the dust of all
your endeavor swirling in my wake?

But yes.

I am also the palette of the universe
contained in a single drop of dew with the
sunlight shining through it

I am the tumbling breeze that whistles
sweetly through the grasses & the leaves

I am the taste of frost-crisped apples,
splitting from streaked red skin to ivory
center with the teardrop seeds of future

I am the summer-collected dandelion fluff
sticking to the warmth of your child's tiny


No comments:

Post a Comment