Here is one of the bravest questions. Hafiz asks it of us, asks if we have the courage to ask such a thing. Should I accept this position with you I would be instantly moved up the mountainside, near the treeline. Oh my Lord, give me strength - give me wings - give me voice and notes, rhythm and melody and give to us the counterpoint and chords.
On my knees, I ask
and you bend down to whisper
in my ear. The warmth
of your breath quickens
that of me can ride your song.
Then I look high up
in the clean branches
of this winter's birch, looking
for the last and best
of us, ornamental scrolls
announcing high tide.
December 10, 2012 1:10 PM
i imagine the world where this takes place over and over again)))
ReplyDeletewhat can i say? your poem))) how it enfolds))
do you have any idea how important the birch are to me? (they are people to me, in so many ways, friends, lovers even.)
we are just back from a walk in the woods at night. it was snowing, cold. the river was black. the trees were varied, sometimes black silhouettes, sometimes grey mist, sometimes lined in snow, sometimes slim birch trees reflecting distant light.
xo
erin