Thursday, June 28, 2018

Thursday Poem - How the Trees On Summer Nights Turn

How the trees on summer nights turn into a dark river,
how you can never reach it, no matter how hard you try,
walking as fast as you can, but getting nowhere,
arms and legs pumping, sweat drizzling in rivulets;
each year, a little slower, more creaks and aches, less breath.
Ah, but these soft nights, air like a warm bath, the dusky wings
of bats careening crazily overhead, and you’d think the road
goes on forever. Apollinaire wrote, “What isn’t given to love
is so much wasted,” and I wonder what I haven’t given yet.
A thin comma moon rises orange, a skinny slice of melon,
so delicious I could drown in its sweetness. Or eat the whole
thing, down to the rind. Always, this hunger for more.

Barbara Crooker, (from More)


Barbara Rogers said...

When I'm most missing my cat, it's strangely as I wake each morning...another day alone. Then I remember how many of us are suffering and still carrying on, and sharing blessings of beauty, and I become braver and get up to face the day.

Mystic Meandering said...

"Always, this hunger for more." Yes... I don't think it ever goes away - the longing for "home", the yearning for something more than myself, something "mystical"... sigh...