finger points

dream of rain

 

  because the wind grows my nails
I sit this evening
on the ledge of an ancient
mystery
the rain is the dream of the present
the noise of rock
of my bones –
penumbra is the rejoining of fragments
in this quiet atmosphere
speech is green grass returning
to the distant seed
because the wind has fed from
these thoughts of dimension
I am bottom
of the
           pendulum life

 

Modern Poetry

2 thoughts on “finger points

  1. I love the way you juxtapose contrasting elements…something that makes your poetry simultaneously complex and simple, nihilistic and enlightening, ancient and modern.

    “speech is green grass returning/ to the distant seed”…awesome!

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s