Thursday, May 30, 2019

Out Loud

There stands a fat robin
on the limestone rocks
outside the window.
And on the tip of the
highest branch of
the peach tree
sits a hummingbird
that rises to do
a sky dance and settles
back down again.
There now is
a rusty red fox so casually
trotting down the
driveway into the
forest of words on my page.
How can these works of
nature make
my heart flutter up like
a single flapping wing?
Here I go again saying
this flower and that tree
or that whinnying pony
make me  so happy.
Isn’t it enough that I’ve
marveled and swelled
before and before that?
Is it necessary to do
ii one time more?
But that’s like saying
I prayed last Wednesday
and so I won’t open my mouth
again today or tomorrow
or next week.
Poetry rides in the flow
of blood that curses
through my veins.
It speaks in the
wind that tosses
the leaves
and blows the clouds
this way
and that.
It’s a matter
saying itself
out loud.

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