Sifting
I randomly picked up a journal/notebook next to my bed, flipped it open halfway through - and found a poem I wrote God knows when...I want to say winterspring of 04, but who's to say?
from many one,
from one many -
the green stalks crowd the base
and fan their wings in stillness:
poised, captured
though some are over
others under,
their unity draws a breath from
within and holds to
the point of flying
indentations like incantations
murmur with delicate backstrokes
of forbearance, each its own
while nailed to oneness.
i long to pluck, to stroke, to break -
but i am touched by innocence:
the softness of your face in shadow
melts my fervor into longing
from many one,
from one many -
the green stalks crowd the base
and fan their wings in stillness:
poised, captured
though some are over
others under,
their unity draws a breath from
within and holds to
the point of flying
indentations like incantations
murmur with delicate backstrokes
of forbearance, each its own
while nailed to oneness.
i long to pluck, to stroke, to break -
but i am touched by innocence:
the softness of your face in shadow
melts my fervor into longing