Thursday, March 10, 2016

Birth Pain (for Sam)

You summon nothing from the branches,
and the snowflakes that freeze the meadows
and make the juniper stoop
are dust on your sparrow wings.
No amulets or pebbles
that glow indignantly in the sun
or the ridged moon vibrating
signal your arrival.
You come evenly like a cloud
and flatter than water.
You egress and retract and push headlong
through the gully and down runnel
where you bob on the ripples like a twig.
You are waxed and indignant,
a ligature of insistence,
sapwood to my heartwood.
We couple nerves on the rocker
while the thistle we hear pricking the breeze
is thrashing its tentacles
and waving irritably.
Too delicate for its malevolence,
it seems to be saying that all origins
have substance and you no less than
the rivers displace the soil
and cleave boulders through which
the currents surge.

(This poem appears in the current issue (as of 
this writing) in Grasslimb (Vol. 13, No. 2)

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