would have nothing whatsoever
to do with, you know — those interlopers.
It would have, I suppose,
a cold mountain stream in it,
a rock shifting in the current,
the too-loud splash of a trout.
It would have loose bark
ticking in the wind
& a saw-whet owl’s discrete
requests for clarification —
that kind of persistence.
It would have the hush
when the crickets suddenly stop
& your pulse makes such a racket
you’re sure it will give you away,
you whose knees
are incapable of bending,
whose feet grip as much of the ground
as they can still lay claim to.
It would cry, that poem,
possibly for joy.
It would hiss.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
A living poem, well done!
Am I Daphne hiding from Apollo?
Thanks, M-L!
Hadn’t thought of that, Bill. Definitely a parallel, though.
A cool thing about “you”: it can have two syllables, “ewe-oo”, the “oo” a faint echo of the “you”, but different, like an echo is different depending on the material it’s reflected from, in this case the enclosing syrinx of the lips. “You” said in a tight-throated bark doesn’t take much breath, but “you” said under your breath while slack-jawed can leave your lungs struggling to flap open like the wings of a startled raven even before the echoing “who” can begin its return.
Yes, and then there’s THIS poem.
http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/5743080/bigfoots_love_slave.html?cat=47