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
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
posted by MB at 8:53 PM
7 Comments:
Oh, they will, they will.
:-)
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.
susan, thanks for letting me know you stopped by! I'm glad you were able to take something away with you.
Late to the party, but can't go by such a beautiful poem without a comment. Thank you, moose.
Latecomers are always welcome at my house, Mary! :-) Thank you.
Just found this one, i really like it!
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