Poetic Interlude V

I.

The fire-blackened corn stalks called

To me today with their leftover heat.

I thought of lying down in the midst

Of them, and becoming one with the char

So that the farmers wouldn’t see me - 

And they would run over me with blades

And wheels, and my red blood would soak

Down into the earth, and I’d be gone.

Except for a patch of pure-white lilies,

So fine as to be unplowable.

Until one night when a boy, enraged,

Would drive over the lilies in his Ford

And my last trace would decompose.

.............................................


II.

Last night a tree frog sat

On the top of my window-sill,

Looking at me as if he knew the secrets

That I have been trying to keep

From myself and others.

Tonight an owl, or a pair of them,

Have come to rest in the quiet woods

And they are calling to each other

With the most tender, urgent message.

I am desperately trying to keep

My sinful hands still and clean,

And hoping beyond all hope

That I can become like the trees.

Give me a chance at hope,

And I will make something

That will last for a long time.

Let me forget my sadnesses

And remember the sun.