[to Sidney Lanier for "The Marshes of Glynn";
to the woods of northern Arkansas]
on the underside of words
where the green moss grows
where the white stones glisten in
the sweeping arc of rainbow banded rains
where small brooks overflow the spice of
ferns and last october's leaves and the years before and hold
the violet the magenta and the peach sunsets
out of reach from all encroaching
where shadows deepen into the green
and the trees close ranks dripping with the sun
I want to run where only music is heard
as the winds rush nowhere known
binding the times beyond time
in the first of languages small, waterfalling,
foamed keeping the secret secret, my only-
home
mary angela douglas 5 june 2014
No comments:
Post a Comment