Let Go
If I were light,
streaming across the sky,
I would be filtered out
by the darkening clouds
that follow me here,
on my way down.
This, that surrounds the bright;
the illumination of my being,
once and for all
pushed through a sifter of now-and-then.
Caressed by vapors and salty tears
Bundled up in loving certainty,
And haunted by yesterday's fears.
Now, let go.
streaming across the sky,
I would be filtered out
by the darkening clouds
that follow me here,
on my way down.
This, that surrounds the bright;
the illumination of my being,
once and for all
pushed through a sifter of now-and-then.
Caressed by vapors and salty tears
Bundled up in loving certainty,
And haunted by yesterday's fears.
Now, let go.
3 comments:
You have a card at Snuzaroos/ AOL.
Fairview Gothic (Revision)...Thanks All.../ Lannie
Lannie Baylor - 03:44pm Sep 8, 2003 EDT
DopeySneezy9@aol.com
Damp leaves, orange vermillion-
green veined, lay atop
the stones at Fairview;
the monuments
simmer, heave, then
settle in the autumn sun
and warm the necropolis
of angels.
I let your hand find mine
and cradle it on our bench,
gently.
Oh Snuze,
this us too;
some cold exhalation-
exhausted bones
taking their time to rot?
Unlike you,
I do not wish that
we had started sooner
on the path,
or rail at things
beyond our reach,
or fuss because
the parting hour
will come
like a thief in the night.
But in my bowels an ache begins
this time of year
when squash comes in,
And days go down to
hours small;
the cemetery says it all.
And I may go without so much as
'Thank You. Snuze', and leave you.
This stone bench,
the solemn place we adore,
the gentle drift of wayward leaves,
carpeting Fairview's floor,
shoves me toward the coming task.
Will you lie down
among these stones
when we are done
side by side with me;
bring our stuff,
unpack our lunch-
promise not to waste
the next life wandering?
Snuggle with my arm around you-
tell me if I've gone amiss,
or if I have,
tell me that
you loved me ever?
I think of rain as periodicity,
punctuation, if you like,
needed like grammar needs light expression,
the earth, it's children, you and I
cannot live unless the firmament opens,
and birds sing just after.
I think of rain in a new way,
no longer umbrellas or dirty streets, or hated fumes from taxi
tailpipes,
city strangers soulessly dashing for cover from nothing
more than a drop in ponchos.
I think I think,
then watch the trace of a wayward
bubble,
sliding down the window on your side, a gift from summer,
while you softly breathe,
sleeping on your side,
on a June afternoon
in our bed.
I think of rain differently,
and I was odd to despise it.
And you were kind to be around me,
liking rain,
till I caught on,
patient you:
till I stumbled upon what you already knew.
Now I watch for
the prism over town
late in the afternoon,
and the fresh note the robin chirps
when showers end and the world is new.
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