Oh love

death is a transition

just as life is a bird

who interupted, will startle

leaving a smudge of indigo

against stark whitewashed sky

the shush-shush of neighors raking leaves

whose auburn crepe bows in protest

for they wish to lay still with the grass

turn seasons over in their golden hours

this artificial need

to tidy, put away, is but one method

of seizing a control far from reach

I fold in your arms, light gloaming through shutters

out of the corner of my eye I see marks on my skin

the furlough of time and suffering, chaffs against endurance

your eyes look oriental as you age

their downturn makes you smile even in pain

lends you a kindness strangers respond to

quiet is infused with our collected breathing

in this moment we live

sheltering from portent

I see the neighbor’s son helping his mother

he’s grown thin and reaching like the trees

not yet aware of diminishment

or why his mother holds back tears

when the sun paints day dark and shadows roam

casting their memories, as we did once with a torch and our hands

your shape lasts in my mind, a totem

I’ve carried an ache so deep in me for so long

it seems to exist independently

a Golem of my own creation

perhaps he will bend and lift me up, when next I fall

weighted by emptiness and disappointment

maybe he will spin me around in browning leaves

escapees of the neighbors rake

flung in unfettered defiance

a string of thoughts





5 Replies to “Never tamed”

  1. Nature, in its seasons is wild
    And it is untidy to many a human eye
    Love is wild too, and untidy
    And has its seasons
    Springs of new discovery
    Summers of heat and passion
    Autumns of harvests and letting leaves fall
    Winters of reflection and seeking simple warmth
    They do not make each other wrong,
    Those seasons of the world and of love
    Control them and make them tidy, we cannot
    The wildness calls out to be lived in
    And the fallen leaves of one round
    Become the soil of the next

  2. Our interior Golems… That will stick with me, and “the wildness calls out to be lived in”. Ultimately, the othering of Nature is our most fundamental mistake.

  3. It really is. I talk to people about why it is that Rachel Carson and Sylvia Earl and others are the main fighters for this and are ignored mostly in favor of magnates making money and how this will kill us all. I think they just think I’m a bat-shit-crazy extremist. It bothers me a lot that others don’t seem to care.

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