Here’s an old poem refurbished like looking back at a mountain already hazed by distance:
October 31
Tonight I dress in bones
for the boy who slipped into forest,
never seen again;
and the man spirited from his mummy bag
by river carrying the evidence away;
and the palsied old lady lying
among a leafless bramble of wizened berries.
This morning, sun rises eye-level,
lighting oak-leaf candles as I descend
the trail, following my dog who knows
the way through mountain-misery
to a clearing made for spirits
a great stone at the edge of a living world.
Below, grinding-rocks of people
who lived here and passed away.
Wind and sunset over canyon and ridge.
What lies above and under
farther than I can see.
~ Taylor Graham
Opmerkingen