Wednesday, September 28, 2005

I do not want to be a thief

these cracked plums
stolen in the hot afternoon
are not mine
for all their juiciness

the sun that grew them and
burns through their lovely wildness
is not mine

your joy will not burn brighter
in my night

it will not take the white heat
of my sorrows and faults
and by some alchemy of spirit
light a fire to warm us both

each day
I tend the hearth
my hand shooting after the errant spark:
do not allow it to extinguish
blow softly with the coals
to warm a cold marrow

I can dream
that some day
these bones that sing so cold so slow
will warm and dance again of their own

7 Comments:

Blogger Dale said...

Oh, they will, they will.

9/28/2005 10:41 PM  
Blogger MB said...

:-)

9/29/2005 8:06 AM  
Blogger Susan said...

Terrific poem, my favorite line is "these bones that sing so cold so slow will warm and dacne again of their own"

Plus there is a good reminder here for me in the meaning. Sometimes when we steal, we don't realize we had the thing we thought we so wanted already, and sometimes when we steal, we don't realize that it wasn't the thing we thought we were stealing anyhow.

I'm glad you started a blog.

10/01/2005 12:53 PM  
Blogger MB said...

susan, thanks for letting me know you stopped by! I'm glad you were able to take something away with you.

10/03/2005 10:32 AM  
Blogger Mary said...

Late to the party, but can't go by such a beautiful poem without a comment. Thank you, moose.

10/04/2005 5:17 AM  
Blogger MB said...

Latecomers are always welcome at my house, Mary! :-) Thank you.

10/04/2005 8:05 AM  
Blogger rdl said...

Just found this one, i really like it!

11/19/2005 4:35 AM  

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