|Bare Tree, Pogonip Trail, 12.29.15|
I would be stripped bare by winter's cold,
Diminished by wild December winds
And emptied of embellishment and color.
I would be brought low, to my knees,
By beauty I can not grasp and poetry
I can not conjure and the ordinary
Mulching of autumn's leaves into damp death.
I would wait just here, in the wood,
Where I've planted a tear and a regret
And a sad love song for earth
And all that's glorious and ordinary here.
Is it your voice I hear now, in the settling
Of my losses on this forest floor?
Is it your sweet song that lifts
These branches in the gathering dark?
I would follow you, I pray,
Into all I cannot know and cannot see,
Into unwritten futures and heartbreak.
So promise me nothing but love,
And extend no comfort but grace.
Bid me no gospel but this:
|Path through Pogonip, 12.29.15|