Tuesday, June 28, 2016

this far from the sun now

Note to Erin on Some Details of the World

It is still cool, and the breeze smells like rain.  
The aroma of the wild roses is, in sheltered places, 
as thick and sweet as some pink fluid coating 

my throat, with a faint fraction of decay, at the verge 
between almost too much and more, please.
As I come to the best raspberries, a deer crashes off 

into the shadows. I don't think they eat raspberries; 
it just happened to be there. I sit above the waterfall, 
and light comes down through openings 

in the leaves, reflects off ripples in the pool, 
and back up, onto the leaves' ribbed undersides, 
this far from the sun now, pulsing like pale banked embers. 

1 comment:

  1. Gorgeous poem, the imagery of the roses and raspberries is lovely.