There was the day that the stroke --just a stroke--
freed her from that dreaming,
lightning freeing the pine
from its impossible salt air climb,
cleaving it to the gravity.
Do we dream of puncturing the salt air, or
do we dream of
the strike, the stroke
the fragrant humus that waits within
to passively, piously
become salt,
electric?
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 11:08 PM UTC
There was the day that the stroke --just a stroke--
freed her from that dreaming,
lightning freeing the pine
from its impossible salt air climb,
cleaving it to the gravity.
Do we dream of puncturing the salt air, or
do we dream of
the strike, the stroke
the fragrant humus that waits within
to passively, piously
become salt,
electric?