Tuesday

HE SEEMS TO BE GRANITE

He seems to be granite.
He seems to be a mountain of granite
but his heart breaks
not with a roar
    but a snap

I've seen a river of ice
crush its way to the ocean
crash like lava to a shadow-raving sea.
It's not like that.
It's like one long tear
    sliding down a neck.

This is not the confidence
    of a man prepared to kill
more like the silence
    of the flight of a bird
        seen through cross-hairs.
What is this?
Grief?


__________

2 Comments:

At 10:47 AM, Blogger paul asjes said...

The Return of The Rivers

All the rivers run into the sea;
yet the sea is not full;
unto the place from whence the rivers come,
thither they return again.

It is raining today
in the mountains.

It is a warm green rain
with love
in its pockets
for spring is here,
and does not dream
of death.

Birds happen music
like clocks ticking heaves
in a land
where children love spiders,
and let them sleep
in their hair.

A slow rain sizzles
on the river
like a pan
full of frying flowers,
and with each drop
of rain
the ocean
begins again.

-Richard Gary Brautigan

 
At 11:32 PM, Blogger Jack H said...

Yes, it's true. Almost everything's true, somewhere. But I reply specifically, in

STATE OF MATTER.
http://broodingdane.blogspot.com/2006/03/states-of-matter.html

J

 

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