Sometimes, I am a lamb, and wolves direct me
to the nearest exit, but
I am clueless with maps and explanations, so I live another day.
I point out delicate clover to a hungry friend, but he stomps
so roughly searching, for the perfect bite
that everything is crushed underfoot.
I lie on the earth to dream and the sky is stainless steel
The clouds are deisel dark with rain.
So then, I love the rain, because I wish to make the best of things.
But the rain is a hurricane and I am blown into a tree,
where I make pine wings and flutter down,
but the land is an earthquake, and I am on shaky ground.
It is hard to be cheerful in this shifting state.
Sometimes I am amorous with the oceanic eyes of the sea.
I am a fever of frills in a long skirt of make believe, dipping in,
unsteady, a fury of burning feet,
until I become a green wash sliding up a lump of beach.
It would seem there are a whole bunch of odd notions to associate with resurrection here-- wolves, the process of "roughly searching", things "crushed underfoot", a sky of "stainless steel", hurricanes and earthquakes--but what is a greater change than a resurrection, what challenges our sense of balance, our comfort zone more? And who is better qualified to ask the question so elegantly?
the only time I found a four leafed clover was the day after a dream..I was sitting outside of taco bell, eating my burritos, I remembered finding one in the dream..and I walked over by the sign where the clovers were..and I pretty much just reached down and grabbed it. Then I got fired from the only good job I had the three years in TN. So I gave the thing away, cause it obviously wasn't meant for me. So now I live by the ocean, because I could no longer afford to live on my own there in the mountains. And I've grown very lazy, too..Well, hope you enjoyed my rambling. Your writing's brilliant as usual. [=
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I live in the mountains of Southwest Virginia. Although my passion is poetry, I recently published a novel called, Women of the Round Tabl.. more..