31 January 2012

False Positive


spring
tugs me outward
i peel off clothing
piece by piece, trailing
behind like breadcrumbs
back to skeletal winter
pregnant river
swollen with the run-off
of sated mountain streams
fertile mud birthing green
i inhale attar of warm wet earth
spice of evergreen and jonquil
basted by the sun
my tongue licks at milk-warm air
sweet with honeyed light
bird song vies with choir of geese
tranquil nocturne in the key of peace
until, the sly north wind stops short,
looks back, a stealthy hunter tracking
spring

4 comments:

  1. Simply beautiful Diana ~ & oh! How true of that 'sly north wind'. Some soul-jerking lines throughout, in particular 'i inhale attar of warm wet earth.' A truly wonderful poem :)

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  2. my tongue licks at milk-warm air... I mean...come on... to coin such an expressive image one needs to be a genius... Awesome, awesome. :)

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  3. a feast for the tongue when read aloud, a feast for the lungs when inhaled like your warm wet earth. just beautiful work, Diana

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