All summer
I wandered the fields
That were thickening
Every morning,
Every rainfall,
With weeds and blossoms,
With the long loops
Of the shimmering, and the extravagant-
Pale as flames they rose
And fell back,
Replete and beautiful-
That was all there was-
And I too
Once or twice, at least,
Felt myself rising,
My boots
Touching suddenly the tops of the weeds,
The blue and silky air-
Listen,
Passion did it,
Called me forth,
Addled me,
Stripped me clean
Then covered me with the cloth of happiness-
I think there is no other prize,
Only rapture the gleaming,
Rapture the illogical the weightless-
Whether it be for the perfect shapeliness
Of something you love-
Like an old German song-
Or of someone-
Or the dark floss of the earth itself,
Heavy and electric.
At the edge of sweet sanity open
Such wild, blind wings.
Leave a Reply