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Going In, Without Words (Week Three)
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Submitted by Anne Dalke on Mon, 10/01/2012 - 11:25pm
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Angle changes view
I really love MVI 4249. I never saw the woods in this angle before!
A Kind of Speech
Though we do not speak
the same language, I will try to speak
in your language. We share an eon
of soft sibilants silenced
after you have gone.
Do you think you own us?
Clearcutters and clearfellers.
Canopy strippers.
Can you hear the crickets
sawing their bell song?
You of the pipeline and waste line.
Ground poisoners, sky belchers.
You of deafening racket.
Can you hear the waterfall trill of the wood thrush?
The geese are already leaving.
And the deer.
I will shred in their mouths
and go down the long chute.
You, Cutters, understand trash talk.
I can read your name on your garbage.
Where are you going?
What is your intent?
What power do you invoke over us?
The bear have gone into the hill.
I am here
sprouting green and speaking
to you but do you hear me?
You with the long shadow.
I have heard you before.
I have been waiting for you
with my green mouth open
and spreading in hot sun.
I drink light like water.
I sing of some ancient memory
ancient and sharp
like the winter wind
that will turn me
turn me toward the slippage
of my being. Will it tear me?
Goring ice draining my blood?
Or a slow hot burn turning me red?
I have heard your footsteps before
keeping me company
keeping me company
and I hold my breath
before you touch me.
Did you pray? Did you ask my permission
before you cut me?