Osmosis
Once it was said by a poet that
gratitude filled a person
“the way a cloud fills with rain,
The way a glass pipe slowly fills with smoke.”
It may go the same with mountains, I believe.
Each step, you know –
From some well inside of you, you know-
Words will not do here, but only the stuff of silence
Or else it will blow away.
And all at once, you are altogether defeated.
It’s alright.
All you are here is to breathe
Not to capture.
No, let it breathe
Let the earth swallow the sun
As you sit
Let those words float up to that sky
That has been struck gold in a blushing kind of alarm
Surprised to see the sun and the rugged West silhouette
Come together in a kiss.
Do not even think about stirring up some sort of allegory
Concerning the smeared grey monster in the East
That tramples and smatters over that city you call home
With its many millions of legs
That only up close look like rain.
No sister, hush now.
Sit and be well with the breeze
That tosses your curls and dries your salty skin.
No darling, not today. You must leave this one here.
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