..
Within the Silence of life’s living I am resting
quieting all thought
quelling even devotion as singular
weaving within the weft of this great love
.
The red tailed hawk still perfect but road killed
the colors of fall
the drifting snow burying the uphill windows
to lit transoms the absolute quiet of white
the starving deer the dogs ran down
in that hardest of winters
the deer’s bones in the morgue of the freezer
until I would bury the bones in Spring
the brush fires I tended that burned hot or low for days
under late snow or Spring rain
the gourds that looked like the swollen bellies of whales
the purge of the creek in spring run off stripping bark
clean from tumbling dead trees
the surprise of the rising waters climbing my calves
the ground saturated to jelly
the path we called Cat Butt turned into a river
the sound wild and competing with returning brown geese
a lightening flash snaking the grounding wire silencing
the music playing inside with a preacher’s thunder
the swath cut through the static of long berry brambles
catching hold and refusing to let go
the oldest grapevine living with the elder pine protecting
each other with their roots suckling water from the bog
the young maples I sang with
as I learned their grove’s language
the low valley road no one wanted to travel that opened
my throat to the sound of a vowel’s reaching
the last call and thumping cry shock wave of each tree
falling as loggers clear cut nearby
the hummingbird sitting in stillness on the tip of the
branchless dead tree each summer’s day at 4
the oceans of colored mushrooms swelling
the deep woods just that one wet season
the bed of lace and leaves tatted by oak’s tannins
where I lay in surrender to soft rain
the purple woman’s hands of black cohosh rising
from wet soil dressed in the mysteries of Spring
.
Drawing by Jana White ©
Instagram @ Jana_h_White
.
~
The Poetics of Light 