the day is finally
enough for me to sit.
small birds cheep, tweet, warble,
sing small songs & weave small loves
of small things long gone), and in-
between run darker, thicker threads
on sounding-looms almost too low
to hear, large as the shadows of
moving maple leaves in the
milky eyes of memory herself; drops
in a lake of living loves.(
other animals eat, storing fat against
the numbing cold, growing
with added physical weight.
But these delicate birds divide their
joys and memories, multiplying
bits of found truth from seasons of
for the stark, wintry months.
in Solitary togetherness, these
small voices echo
and forth, patiently gathering
inner reservoirs of weightless melody
in preparation for the coming cold
and its fettered, flightless days.
Collective, they will face the gray-white-frost, just
so many tiny, puff-ed hearts filled(collective)with
I sit silent:
the juniper branches
outside my window, growing hillside
in a leaning, lively fury of crisp and detailed
sweep out and up,
gently, tentatively ~ from trunk to tips, waving
like greenly needled ocean swells,
exactly articulated in the breeze.
and now through the leaves above
the spangled sun will set, round and bleeding red: color
will enter my world, a watercolor as yet
fresh canvas, already alive
with Sound (another small song).
fragile feet hold on, waiting.
c. Mary Kathryn Gough, 2006
this is a bit of a draft. it’s probably my third draft, though i don’t have proper notes of my edits. i’m still feeling it’s too long and laboured… too many ideas in it perhaps. not sure. i’d appreciate feedback from anyone so inclined – never say no to a little advice, critique, or just reactions.