Laid across the log
Gazing up at gray skies
Waiting for the rain to spatter my eyes
Let flow the latest truth my soul knows
All the better with outer senses closed.
From a crack in the ground grows the stem of white guilt
Amidst overtowering standards our dark fathers have built.
Feeling needs is no cause for shame
For their first need is to be named.
Come walk with me
Long enough to know
We're all echoing ghosts of the times
Making wholesome news from ancient crimes.
You're never too smart to be wrong,
Too talented to belong,
Or too late to join the chorus in a song.
The squirrel skittering between branches overhead
Makes noises as well defined to its friends
As any of the words in English I've said.
Hi there.
This is a poem I wrote while writing in the woods this winter. There’s no place like the forest for me when it comes to being open to my imagination.
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