Friday, November 15, 2013

Death, teach me what it means
to dream. What it means
to lose hope, like white roses
falling to the ground.
Show me a road forward, a root
to a tree, a tree,
now fallen, now split at the trunk, now broken.

Plant seeds at my feet
that I might walk forward, crushing
the roots I have made;
show me rivulets of water, show me
rain run-offs, deep rising cliffs, mountains
born of mist and fog, crowned by winter,
here risen from the ground.

You flow through spring in a vibrant undertow;
threading forward, you teach me of roots,
of abandon, of endless yearning; you know
what the heart needs, and I, afraid to say it, afraid
to move forward; here is dusk
and I stand alone. Moving forward--
why? Why must I leave all I ever loved

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