Last Updated On July 23, 2018

 

"With no loving in our souls and no money in our coats You can't say we're satisfied" -The Rolling Stones

 

 

Its an inexplicable sadness:
A barren field
Golden crisp and shorn,
Where large rolls of hay
Rested just long enough to be depended upon.

Then so suddenly departed
As if they rolled off into the night.

If I could go back,
I would’ve been bold.
Crossing the crackling expanse,
I’d lay prone over the bale’s
Enormous circumference.

Heedless of poke and scratch,
I’d inhale the sweet weedy tang of
Farm and field,
Animal and vegetable,
And the bale’s surface would rhythmically rise and fall,
Lifting me to my toes,
Like Grant’s triceratops,
Bringing a smile to my lips.

The sadness
Is that no matter how many times I went back,
Bold or otherwise,
It would never be like I imagined.
Nothing ever is.

And then there are other times…
Contacts with grace.

Like when he makes his way,
From delta to hip to rib,
Warm and soft,
Boneless and tame,
Like a beautiful eclipse before the dawn.

I imagine that we are the same organism
That he grew from my side.
He is a gorgeous, unfurling petal
With branching capillaries throbbing to life
Under his silky surface.
And we share the same force,
The same vein,
The same stem.

And I am reminded of my infants.
Placed on my chest,
Mirroring my heart,
Like dewy podded tree frogs,
Pulsing with transformation,
And still tethered to my being
By a single coiled tendril.

No matter how many times I go back
This never becomes less miraculous
Than it actually is.
###

 

Last Updated On July 23, 2018

 

"With no loving in our souls and no money in our coats You can't say we're satisfied" -The Rolling Stones

 

Its an inexplicable sadness:
A barren field
Golden crisp and shorn,
Where large rolls of hay
Rested just long enough to be depended upon.

Then so suddenly departed
As if they rolled off into the night.

If I could go back,
I would’ve been bold.
Crossing the crackling expanse,
I’d lay prone over the bale’s
Enormous circumference.

Heedless of poke and scratch,
I’d inhale the sweet weedy tang of
Farm and field,
Animal and vegetable,
And the bale’s surface would rhythmically rise and fall,
Lifting me to my toes,
Like Grant’s triceratops,
Bringing a smile to my lips.

The sadness
Is that no matter how many times I went back,
Bold or otherwise,
It would never be like I imagined.
Nothing ever is.

And then there are other times…
Contacts with grace.

Like when he makes his way,
From delta to hip to rib,
Warm and soft,
Boneless and tame,
Like a beautiful eclipse before the dawn.

I imagine that we are the same organism
That he grew from my side.
He is a gorgeous, unfurling petal
With branching capillaries throbbing to life
Under his silky surface.
And we share the same force,
The same vein,
The same stem.

And I am reminded of my infants.
Placed on my chest,
Mirroring my heart,
Like dewy podded tree frogs,
Pulsing with transformation,
And still tethered to my being
By a single coiled tendril.

No matter how many times I go back
This never becomes less miraculous
Than it actually is.
###

Last Updated On July 23, 2018

"With no loving in our souls and no money in our coats You can't say we're satisfied" -The Rolling Stones

Its an inexplicable sadness:
A barren field
Golden crisp and shorn,
Where large rolls of hay
Rested just long enough to be depended upon.

Then so suddenly departed
As if they rolled off into the night.

If I could go back,
I would’ve been bold.
Crossing the crackling expanse,
I’d lay prone over the bale’s
Enormous circumference.

Heedless of poke and scratch,
I’d inhale the sweet weedy tang of
Farm and field,
Animal and vegetable,
And the bale’s surface would rhythmically rise and fall,
Lifting me to my toes,
Like Grant’s triceratops,
Bringing a smile to my lips.

The sadness
Is that no matter how many times I went back,
Bold or otherwise,
It would never be like I imagined.
Nothing ever is.

And then there are other times…
Contacts with grace.

Like when he makes his way,
From delta to hip to rib,
Warm and soft,
Boneless and tame,
Like a beautiful eclipse before the dawn.

I imagine that we are the same organism
That he grew from my side.
He is a gorgeous, unfurling petal
With branching capillaries throbbing to life
Under his silky surface.
And we share the same force,
The same vein,
The same stem.

And I am reminded of my infants.
Placed on my chest,
Mirroring my heart,
Like dewy podded tree frogs,
Pulsing with transformation,
And still tethered to my being
By a single coiled tendril.

No matter how many times I go back
This never becomes less miraculous
Than it actually is.
###