Oh bare soul
Ink stains
On white sheets
hinting impressions of what
came before
Without a dark mark made
Leaving no footprints or
creases and whatnot
Simply sinking in
a breeze shuffles
across the surfaces,
Lost in the sheaf
reams of lives,
trembling forests,
all are ashes too...
In the tree outside
the bedroom window
Atop the tallest branch
A mockingbird gives an Aria
Jumping up in bursts,
Flapping,
Landing, bleating again
Relentlessly
it seems to me
that if a free spirit were
truly so
No one would ever know
The full story of a tree...
does one begin with roots-
the buried seeds
nay, so I draw
a delicate leaf
Hanging mid-air
and am fixated
noticing the fallen
Bark below, scratches, and scars
That healed long before
Now sloughed off
and suddenly I erupt
laugh aloud
Along the same avian pitch
Mocking my own
disbelief in the resilience
of composition
finding forms
of Liberty.
Erasing all I have done
In the air, irrigated charcoal
a trace, a gentle summer
Rain is coming
so I jump up and go for a run
In the nearby woods
Blood pumping
through limbs
Pounding the soft earth
I carve a secret Path
instead
of writing this poem.
Image Title: Bob; the story of our mocking-bird
Year: 1899 (1890s)
Authors: Lanier, Sidney, 1842-1881; Lanier, Charles Day. (from old catalog); Dugmore, Arthur Radclyffe, 1870- (from old catalog) illus
Publisher: New York, C. Scribner's sons
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Credit via Wikimdia Commons in Public Domain
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