Friday, November 17, 2006

one whole world

Hungry mountains, soft rolling waves
I’d tread slow those brown, grassy hills,
and light cross those wide rolling plains.
I want to know the dark earth of the vale,
and lie still in the heavy silence of the forest
where the wild cat roars her yearnings
and the small squirrel lives in grace.
These large trees, they can not hold us
they will not share their wisdom of ages
That vast vision would soon devour
and leave of us no lingering memories
no odours nor high ideals to carry higher
no questions, unanswered or holy grails
I hunger for the mountains,
they are of the beginnings and of the end
I thirst for the waters,
they are the mean and of the way
I plea for the hills and vales,
but they are quiet to my ministrations
and follow the past, not deviate
I love for the white bear and the grey goose
while they share their turn at the wheel
that grinds all this away.
—May 23, ’89


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