If in the silence of the earliest
morning, before the sun cracks
across the sliding glass
of the wide Red River – If in that hour,
like a pocket, the cat quiet, curled
against the inner, ragged hem,
I laced on my running shoes, slipped
into my mud-caked rubber boots,
and took myself outside – If I lay on the lawn
under the wagging fronds of the wolf
willows, silver leaves snagged on the moon
we are waiting to fatten to full – If I did that –
Entered the tunnel of night,
fumbled inside its silence – If I did that,
pressed an ear against the earth’s cool
skin, opened to the muttering whisper
of wind. – If I did that –
What would I bring back?
From the iron silence.
From the night’s thick ink.
What would stain,
what truth would stick,
scrawled on sky.
This painting of birch trees brought me back to my childhood. I absolutely love it. The poem was very satisfying to me to read. It was quite enjoyable. The combination, perfect.
I absolutely love this. It is so elegant and haunting.