Monday, August 24, 2009

Lady, run.

Lady, run through the tall grass
and let your sweet hair fall down.
Your ankles are bitten and your fingers are raw
and stained with blood and a berry’s juice.
It’s been days since you’ve been seen,
Days since anyone has told you what color the sun is,
And what smell the river gives off at dawn.
You’ve been too busy trailing your way off of pages
And into the eyes of wilderness fighters,
Torturous spiders and half-hearted builders.
Still you curl and burn with your eyes closed
And your mouth open to taste the scenery and sense
The way the world moves about you.
You anchor the trees through braided roots,
Bended branches and sculpted groves.
You are mud, you are dry and you stick the world
To the sky and hold it.
Like Atlas you stand, proud but haunted
For if you open your eyes, you will surely
Burst at the seams.
Lady, run through the bleached bark
And let your sweet hair be singed.