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s-lyman-templePoems
~ for years innumerable   this generational mystery persisted      even when the heat radiated down           and not a shadow would pass                  the slightest rumbles not the rumbles of a drifting shelf     or the slipping of a plate far away          but something similarly natural                  and soothing                   cozy and nestled in a cradle                    kits slept against grey skin                    edges softened and worn                    offering the perfect bassinette                    to another family of foxes a strong wind tipped a tree      crumbling mountain found a canyon below           the snows came and ice stretched deep                  separating basalt and sedimentary                       I felt myself falling apart It was after this harshest of winters      I began to notice different sounds... the constant steady clicking        of a raven cracking filberts              upon my exposed bones the trickling of a nearby stream    carrying away pieces of my body         rolling them smooth                sending them to lands                     I would never see              and the foxes each early spring and late summer       they would return to my womb                bring forth new life                      from the belly of a stone I have lost count….      how many babies have I held               how many soft toes have explored my veins                     how many light yips from the depths                              have lulled me to sleep                                           when strong winds blow                                                  and the trees begin to lean    /
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Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 3:55 PM UTC
Pattering Furred Feet Feel like a Soft Warm Rain
~ for years innumerable   this generational mystery persisted      even when the heat radiated down           and not a shadow would pass                  the slightest rumbles not the rumbles of a drifting shelf     or the slipping of a plate far away          but something similarly natural                  and soothing                   cozy and nestled in a cradle                    kits slept against grey skin                    edges softened and worn                    offering the perfect bassinette                    to another family of foxes a strong wind tipped a tree      crumbling mountain found a canyon below           the snows came and ice stretched deep                  separating basalt and sedimentary                       I felt myself falling apart It was after this harshest of winters      I began to notice different sounds... the constant steady clicking        of a raven cracking filberts              upon my exposed bones the trickling of a nearby stream    carrying away pieces of my body         rolling them smooth                sending them to lands                     I would never see              and the foxes each early spring and late summer       they would return to my womb                bring forth new life                      from the belly of a stone I have lost count….      how many babies have I held               how many soft toes have explored my veins                     how many light yips from the depths                              have lulled me to sleep                                           when strong winds blow                                                  and the trees begin to lean    /
s-lyman-temple
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s-lyman-temple
American
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 3:55 PM UTC
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