What language speaks with the winter wind and drags its feet to furrow the snow? Will it capture my face and ferry it skyward until the sun breaks through like light through a prism reducing my love to its essential colors? Night thickens from grey to black. Rain pools in the street. Shadows pool in the alley. In a dream my hands find a body thick as a blossom swelling to open its petals in the night knowing what it needs remains unnamed but still there, as certain and transparent as a body can make it. The wind might know. Or the larks. Or the crows that steal our secrets and hide them in the desert caves of desire.
I find myself pondering the poetic parallels you draw between the subtle transformations occurring in the natural world and those within our own hearts and souls.
Winters wind drags the feet to furrow the snow. Imagine my plow to toss aside the drifts, to clear a path that the wind blows words back to me of night blooming jasmine scent that wafts through my nose—a fragrance returned with the wind and a secret desire one night.
Yes Paul. Snow word drifts piled high , fill in the spaces. No matter , the drift will melt and words revealed but you got to figure out how to collect the runoff water ways to form another masterpiece.
Yes. A reverie . A cup that will runoff on its own, spill over a falls with sentences wrapped as rapids that veer off rocks. But like a good stream calm down to be heard in silence to float a paper cup like a raft for a dragonfly to land and get a good view.
Language will always tell on us, give us away, and in the end, betray our secrets. I think that is what language is for: to reveal what is hidden, to make clear our intent.
It’s a great poem but the last line is killer, “Or the crows that steal our secrets
and hide them in the desert caves of desire”.
You know that crows will steal anything? Thanks, Stan
I find myself pondering the poetic parallels you draw between the subtle transformations occurring in the natural world and those within our own hearts and souls.
I often feel those parallels, A.M.
“The crows that steal our secrets..” what a tremendous phrase. Our bodies surely are transparent, and dreams so full of possibilities.
Thank you Paul.
(Ps. It’s wonderful for the non poetic types like myself to be able to interact with the author. )
Thank you for your comments, and thank you for being here, Teyani
Winters wind drags the feet to furrow the snow. Imagine my plow to toss aside the drifts, to clear a path that the wind blows words back to me of night blooming jasmine scent that wafts through my nose—a fragrance returned with the wind and a secret desire one night.
I sometimes feel the wind blows words back at me and past me making me chase after something I never quite grasp.
Yes Paul. Snow word drifts piled high , fill in the spaces. No matter , the drift will melt and words revealed but you got to figure out how to collect the runoff water ways to form another masterpiece.
I will take words from a crowded house and “try to catch the deluge in a paper cup”
Yes. A reverie . A cup that will runoff on its own, spill over a falls with sentences wrapped as rapids that veer off rocks. But like a good stream calm down to be heard in silence to float a paper cup like a raft for a dragonfly to land and get a good view.
The desert caves of desire. Perfect!
Thanks, Joshua
Some really lovely lines here, Paul.
Thank you, Thomas
What language can ever hide desire, I suspect none. Each night the secret is said aloud.
Language will always tell on us, give us away, and in the end, betray our secrets. I think that is what language is for: to reveal what is hidden, to make clear our intent.
Perhaps pandora found language as well as hope inside Zeus wedding gift..
Simply love this poem.
Thank you, LeeAnn
Just beautiful, Paul!
Thank you, Sharon!
Yes!
Thanks, Leon!
Especially shiny objects!
Outstanding, Paul. A beautiful poem.
Thank you, Shondra
Yes!
Thanks, Gary!
The last stanza—wow!
Thank you, Diane
Excellent, Paul. Always a pleasure.
Thanks for the support, C.J.
My pleasure, Paul. I enjoy your work.
It's so very beautiful.
Thank you, Cynthia