Try this: before you go inside to sit
in air-conditioned quiet, pull one leaf
and stick it in your pocket, like a thief.
Tell no one. Make a mystery of it.
In meetings, secretly caress the veins,
trace sawtooth edges, chlorophyllic flesh,
and surreptitiously inhale the fresh
green scent from fingertips: black earth, new rains.
It's easy to get trapped in what is not
a part of us; separate from the world
outside, and silence what's in us that sings
of sunshine-heated rocks, and fingers curled
around moist leaves. Let's learn what we've forgot:
there have to be connections between things.
Showing posts with label Nature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nature. Show all posts
Friday, September 7, 2007
Pocket Garden
Posted by
Scott
at
8:01 AM
1 comments
Labels: Formal Poetry, Nature, Sonnets
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