Sunday, May 3, 2015

Here's a poem I recently had published in Iodine Poetry Journal.  I hope you enjoy reading it:

The Woods at The End of The Suburb
The wind gropes toward something unknown
that cannot be specified by touch, a shift
in the trees followed by a glance that recognizes
but does not discern.  The buffets of breeze tell a story
of how a body bends and folds, waxing with warmth.
New days are pictures of old days when rain came
from nowhere to infiltrate the earth with nourishment,
to chill the dying year that swept the land into the gulley.
The ground holds a creeping cry in soft soil where worms
break the surface to be devoured by robins.  The world
comes here complete.  The suburb ends in a careful
detour of wooded fields no axe or saw has breached
in a century.  The quiet here is a light at the end of August
that brightens the barely-moving array of weeds and thistles.
This must be some land owner’s worry that summons him
in sleep or keeps him bothered at work.  The industry of every
crevice fixes his mind on selling the old place: bottomland
no one wants, too boggy to build a house.  My delight
is not his concern.  I pass unnoticed into the night, indiscernible
even to myself, emerging from his private forest with a thought
of how brilliance dies without leaving the mind, how the voices
stay where they settle.

(Published in Iodine Poetry Journal.)