Saturday, August 18th, 2012
To walk is to touch inside
the skin of distance,
so I learn with my feet
to know the places I go.
Wearing shoes, still, I can tell
grass from mud
rock from sand
dry asphalt from wet.
At home, I will paint this joy with effort:
images of roads caressing hills,
stairs bending in succession,
of red dirt stroking between my toes.
Friday, October 7th, 2011
a spoon lies on its side,
warm from its bath,
well,
before
a day that is
a crowded drawer.
it is a spoon’s sunrise,
warmth in its belly,
awake,
a gleam
that knows
its origins.
a spoon’s length,
warmed in its veins,
breathes,
a brushstroke
of breath
made visible.
a spoon turns
for the moment,
seeing,
an eye
in a water drop,
of a round world.
spoon on my palm,
its own balance,
its ease is
an even stream
of water
where i live.
Thursday, April 8th, 2010
Spring is all bluster in this forest.
To these coastal winds,
winds anywhere northern arboreal,
forest-waking is but a slap and a sigh.
The forest floor
hefts the heavy drench of melt,
still wrapped, cold, in the slack and tangled quilt of fall.
No, not today, and not for spring winds,
but leaf she will,
from these bare limbs that surge toward sky.
It will be summer for whose approach
the forest deepens, grows and gathers shade,
for summer’s eyes and not for spring’s hard breath.
A forest grows for the visitation of frank sunlight.
Wind and Sun is licensed by Deborah Hirsch under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.