FreetheDust

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I’ve found you in the sky
and the stars that never fail,
in spring grasses blowing slowly
on a craggy peak with hail.

I’ve found you in the waves
crashing upon a foreign land
and in the glittering sun’s last light
bouncing off a million grains of sand.

I’ve found you in many forests
dense or sparse, trees short and tall
heard you on a chilly night
on the wolf’s mournful call.

I’ve found you in every place I go
the further I journey, the more I find
but when I close my eyes at night
you are no where, and I am blind.
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In the green country I laid down
some dew was still left
the grass whispered
and I took root.

I woke, and the path
that brought me here was gone,
the memory of fire
almost extinguished.

Around me hills peered down
and I up at them.
Was I alive? Dead?
What was this place?

The trees answered,
but I didn’t know tree
or grass or wind,
only human words.
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You said that scars were ugly
and I ran my finger over yours
walked along the edges
and swam across your story,
buoyed by its imperfection.
I traveled to this memory
cut into your being
to stay awhile, imagining
I was there, alongside you,
when the mark you wore in pain
became the river that made you beautiful.
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Can I sleep here for a year or two
and let the snow come cover me?
I could thaw and bloom in your sun
and wind my days more slowly.
Come fall, let me rustle and stir,
no aim in sight, just what’s done.
I’ll fade into the used-to view
inevitable and invisible.
I don’t need any water, save
sustenance: the dark earth,
the changing horizons,
and the soft space in between.
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“Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift” - Mary Oliver

When the light of possibilities escaped each night we built our own to stave off the harsh, cold, truth of the night and spent the evening feigning comfort just enough to lose consciousness until beginning the process again the next morn.

Le ore del mattino hanno l’oro in bocca.