Another gentle bend in the road leading nowhere.
All things testify according
to their natural, light-given truth:
leaves, twigs, meadows, and birds,
wild streams and errant tufts of fur,
dry weeds whispering remember me,
baked crust of aromatic earth.
I nod to the mossy water
conversing fortuitously in a ditch,
push back my hat, scratch my head,
wonder at the miracle of melted snow.
I rub dirty hands on threadbare jeans,
revel on bended knees to dig,
every inch a mile closer to myself,
past walls etched with veins of gold.
Summer speaks, autumn listens,
cold winter declares its grief.
When I care beyond my strength to know,
spring drags me out of bed,
makes rainbow tea,
butters my bread with sky.
I swallow the light and go outside.
In the wink of an eye,
my dreams no longer fit their shoes.
Songs and Letters, January 30, 2006
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Categories: Songs and Letters
Tags: Childhood, Memory, Our Old Farm, Poems, Poetry, The San Joaquin Valley