On Surviving….

how to express this,

with no words strung into poetry,

but to exhort your eyes

from the terror of remembering,

to dandelions

outshooting from the grass,

there along hills and plains,

their wild flames raging

among violets and purple dead nettles,

now say my heart is the soil –

and this is its rejoicing

X70

.

….how then to feel this heart beat as if imprisoned

in my chest,

for

I would live as variously as

the flowers in spring

(and still a flower be)

….or the hummingbird…or….or then a tree….

more than eyes to me would concede,

free from a

narrow,

narrow

world

.

.

.

.

X69

My hands to no

Swords and stratagems

For sustenance,

I engorge on silence;

And for days there is no contact

With the outside world.

I straddle slowly, closely the winding banks of rivers, the mirror of my own veins.

I avoid the hinterlands, rife of noises and competitions;

And in the

Mist one morning

Will laugh at a distant madness.

X68

We are never more than walking distance or a few miles away from the ocean,

looming large,

mysterious,

fearsome,

just beyond the hills,

between

the canopies of trees,

the blue

backdrop to every act of living.

At night

her soft breaths lull us into the pleasant realms of dreams,

though now to free upon the remnants of all that has gone missing;

but

this is not farewell,

only

the sea again becoming sea