Monday, October 17, 2005

Thousand Springs

about a green island fed by springs
the river swirls clearest of clear
like glass, just like glass,
holding bouquets of waving grasses

here on a green island fruit trees whorl
ripe with pears, redolent with plums
the grass stained with blood-red pulp
mashed underfoot like summer wine

across a green island lit by music
fields unfold full and festive
musicians weaving under the supple canopy
strangers dancing with strangers in falling sunlight

on a green island cached in the desert
before her soft and sinuous sweeps
an owl sings to us as we sing to her
to close a fat and honeyed day


Blogger zhoen said...

It usually takes prose to work such a spell of imagery and feeling on me, a miracle.

10/17/2005 1:46 PM  
Blogger MB said...

Thanks, zhoenw. Thank you.

10/18/2005 8:43 AM  

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