Lilac Wine :: a warzone towards haiku

December 25, 2013

Midwinter

Filed under: Text — Tags: — Lilac @ 10:00 pm

Mute hands, sensitized by the rarity of touch. Palms turned down they complete a smitten circuit to earth ground, frosted and strewn with redwood needles. Orion arcs overhead. This place is a comic example of the persistence of memory. In my heart it was a fireplace, cavernous as focus turns things, and light and shadows playing in pools of bone. In my heart it was a staircase to the snow, a lone house in the wild woods, some narrow road to pagan peace.

In reality, like Dali’s clocks un-melted, it was a cabin with rooms of standard size among a row of like buildings. There was a strip of parking. The fireplace was smaller. Memory has its own poetic honesty.

Mute hands, numb with midwinter cold. Once I wrote of being a conduit. Everything flows over me and through me, into the ground, yet is recreated continually. I suppose then I am a source, not merely wires. Here in the forest I join a complete circuit; cold, crying, calling for an ancestral spirit.

He comes and walks me back inside.

Advertisements

Leave a Comment »

No comments yet.

RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URI

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

%d bloggers like this: