Monday, July 20, 2015

In The Unmanaged Forest

In The Unmanaged Forest

waiting on a squirrel without a plan i opened a
container in our moving vehicle of vines, and ivies
drove the spanse of massive oak and cedar branches,
cloaked in silver capes of moss steeled like monks,
gone from the path before it closes.

on field hare, whiskering brush, on gators back coulda
been cake-dried mud, until we saw it swam. red fern
flowers looked like beans too wet to rattle, wind tries.

under a white rock a woman answers a prayer with all
of her might, fallen logs answer in kind with shadows for
modesty. i am drunk seeing her. Pandoras trunk never
undulated like mine does, against the breaches in your
perimeter. like one makes allowances for a child, you let
me arouse your stewardship, for ive no mooring now,
except the luxuriant waving of the stock-still grasses
in the water below it.

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