Saturday, April 16, 2011

The Science of Lightning
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . for Sarge

Flashing bright all around
and then the wait.
1 . 2 . . 3 . . . 4 . . . . 5 . . . . .

Growing, green things were my science
The in and out of it
What's hidden in the seed
Roots breaking rocks
What I needed to know of my world
Meaning prised out of method

Bellydown in summer dust, breathing things
were my knowing, wishing, longing
Hornbook and chalkboard and sampler
Shiny black ants moving boulders,
Yellow striped things savoring gold dust
Morning's silver trails
Webs swept with dew
Fat green caterpillars with racing stripes
Downy wing and feathered
gathered and hoarded
Stones that glittered, sparkled, glowed
jagged or rubbed round

Abacus dream, counting coup
from light to sound, count to five
Numbers, now, numbers are

16 Aprille 2011


white bear said...

Love you, Sarge. Do.

Sarge said...

Ah, my love

How truly special you are in both poetry and prose...

as an arrow to my heart, hitting the essence of what is real while capturing underlying elements of dreams that lie within

How perfect this is, how lovely

There is but one word...beautiful

Thank you my darling,
I love you