prophet

It was October and instead of lying beneath you

I left you alone.

I walked along the road until I met the tree line

Where I went to collect samples

And maybe remember that the leaves were changing.

 

Is it wrong that I find more meaning in the withering of a leaf

Than the withering of us?

 

You do not need to remind me of my duty,

I know it too well, though I recline beside the river.

 

There is too much water here,

Too many things that grow and choke the air.

The sky cannot hold enough of the sun to feed them all

They starve one another

And wrap tendrils around each other’s throats.

 

In the desert, the rain is a blessing.

It carves out rivers in the dust on your arms.

 

My great enemy does not know

That I find his homeland beautiful,

That the dust in my nostrils

Is the dust I swept out of my home

When the winds came, shaking the gnarled juniper.

 

Prophets come from every desert,

Knowing heaven is in life that survives the absence.

 

The shaman paints her face, weaves feather in her hair

And invokes the line between.

Reviews

[Casey Truax]

There is a land that suffers from overabundance ("too much water here") and implies the way that trees compete with one another for sunlight, perhaps a metaphor of Western culture? In contrast the desert is the place of appreciation ("the rain is a blessing"), not in spite of but because of its scarcity.

[Moonflower]

Oh this was exquisitely sullen, the words wind around your mind, embracing and then sinking in...I felt this like ripples of warm water, silent realizations and understandings. The last few stanzas were very interesting, thought provoking and unique.

I think I am already falling inlove with your poetry, dear. ;)

[Lilly Negoi]

excellent! love the "rivers in the dust on your arms" image

[.]

. riveting images ... and ravishing poetry ...

[Emily B]

you are an amazing poet! I will be back to read more of your art. So lovely to find your words here. . .

[Ed Hart]

your life is such a contradiction...that it includes this, and those other things...well, maybe 'contradiction' isn't the word, but it's the one that comes to mind...