Saturday, January 24, 2015

Everything I Need Right Now, to Live

She said, "You should be writing," and I thought --

I hear the red-winged blackbird in the marsh;
His weight can hardly sway a cattail stem,
And yet his voice can reel away the years
And show me cedars from my childhood's hills.
Above its purple rim, the eastern sky
Has bubbled up the moon; no steel-blue lake
Is here to catch reflections of its red,
But still, that face had watched me in the past,
And watches me again as I watch you.
Your every step beside me sings. Your hand,
As cool in mine as bedsheets on the skin,
Is everything I need right now, to live.

-- Absent in their southern fields, the birds
Are now too far away to lend a song.
The moon has burst and lies, a broken leer,
Hollow on the rooftops. And your hand
You tore away from mine. The years are gone.
I turn my back on evening, and I write.

No comments: