Wednesday, 1 May 2013

concerning miracles

the green is coming. gently, joyously parting the ancient and mysterious skin. before our eyes, beneath our feet, it's all handed to us on a plate. the concept of edges, as always, solid and imperceptible. i march into the sun, vow to bury a piece of my heart in each of your bones, to be the idea, that about which you wonder. tonight, a silent passage home. the sun throws shadows long on the ground and it seems to me that love blooms on broken stones. they, which is it, sit crossed legged with worlds strapped to their backs. gold mines shine behind the cracks in their sternums.


ellom said...


v said...

your words....



I thought the earth
remembered me, she
took me back so tenderly, arranging
her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds. I slept
as never before, a stone
on the riverbed, nothing
between me and the white fire of the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated
light as moths among the branches
of the perfect trees. All night
I heard the small kingdoms breathing
around me, the insects, and the birds
who do their work in the darkness. All night
I rose and fell, as if in water, grappling
with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better.

-Mary Oliver from the Twelve Moons collection

Wingfall at dusk said...

"Love blooms on broken stones" I am in love with that thought.
You capture the mystery of spring perfectly.