Search This Blog

Sunday, September 14, 2014



He walks with me
in the meadows of my mind
through patterns and rhyme
and meters I'd long forgot
until he pointed
at them lying in leaves
of dappled brown.

He taught me how to listen
for the sound of light
on water seen only in
periphery and gone
if I turn
my face to gaze

to understand the need
for touch, how time
slows down
when the fog comes in
and sound is muffled in a
cool, moist cloud

how loudly silence rings
in the susserrous of trees in the wind
and remembering the
joy of standing underneath
the mossy oak

Strong, like those limbs
that cupped us, children,
unaware that wind
can crush us or caress
and how to know the difference.
Find shelter from the storm.