Saturday, November 26, 2011

old growth

too many words today poured out
and walked through like puddles.

they have enough stored energy 
to make for impressive explosions

but even the most powerful fuel
needs to mix with other material

to ignite. and a spark; oh god, what i'd give
for a spark to set the whole pile ablaze

each one giving up a tiny flash of light
before turning to ash, still and inert.

i am a forest scraggly with gray timber,
half-dead, waiting for fire.

i used to dream every night
of fires; now, of the sea. i waited

for everything trivial to be consumed;
now this has been done, leaving just

a small raft made of wood too ancient
and hardened to burn. now the main task

at hand is to find a direction
in this new oceanscape.

but there is no hurry,
no rush at all.

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