Our pale blue skywinter's endless dome
infinite as heaven
bears the distant sun, harsh
upon forest deep firs
whippoorwill tight
their royal winter coats
sparkling of snow
we pull
sharp winter air
like knifes
into our lungs
cutting them
with each dry inhale
and of frosty exhaust
exhale our reply
out and upward
steaming forth
as trucks too
snort into the bitterness
arriving in procession
mumbling in shivering idle
their cold cargo
awaiting bearers
and men
that can walk
unload men
that cannot
from my tent I watch
morning wind
lightly twirling
fresh snow
across the open field
whipping
snapping
muddy heels
urgent
so urgent
these worn
wet heels
soft
like slippers
in the
snow
bringing
our presents
wool wrapped gifts
in bows
of red limbs.
__________
pale blue boys
dressed in heavenly crimson
supine smiles
of gaunt ivory
and river swollen tongues
overflowing lips
drooling tributaries
eroding muddy canyons
down unshaven faces
our boys I watch
arrive as harvest
stacked like wheat
unloaded as wood
cut down
they lie
before these aged firs
looking up
with gray eyes
our boys
beyond the forests
beyond the skies
2 comments:
You must have opened up some gash in your soul to write as this. Some ghost memory with fingertips dipped still in blood pools. There's no other explanation, is there?
S., there is a lot of pain, perhaps more than I've ever bore before. The blood I see is my own. I can't stop the bleeding and with each day, I grow more faint. A post like this is a letting. The line between Mary and I blurred and confused.
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