It can
happen that you come out of the wood,
( although
you can’t know that for sure
because
everything is possible and maybe
you have
already been swallowed in it
and it’s
not you who is now writing this..)
it can
happen that fighting against
nettles and
brambles you find your way through,
it can
happen, but you can’t esteem
if some of
that, or all, is only a dream:
the cutlass
you heave, the warm rain
the hot
gates and all the rest.
Dreams
happen, impose themselves
like a
casual rhyme,
a sudden
dazzling chime.
You come
out then, a clearing at last,
you breathe
and your eyes sense a shine,
you enjoy
the opening, you enjoy space.
the sun has
come out with warmth and grace.
But it’s
just a clearing, as beautiful
and
transitory as this shiver in your feelings
and the
wood is going to thicken once more over there
and it’s
going to be only wood almost everywhere...
what is
this dream going to prepare?
Or is it
only the very hard rind of things?
The hold,
brush and crust of the world?
Wood going
into new wood,
new
intricacies from old clearings?
For the
moment you just sink
in the
grass, the narrow present
might also
be soft,
a butterfly
alights,
gnats hurry
in thickening spirals,
oh, you could
fully breathe this dream now, let it swim,
out of joy,
out of spite, out of all,
spitting
the pips of your tangerine in the sky gold,
letting the
sea of grass digress
even if
only a moment remains, or less.
Change,
rich and strange.
Beetles are
swarming, May-bugs,
drunken
drone and emerald shine,
you inhale
this Kubla Khan of time,
yes, yes,
everything changes because nothing does,
you plunge
into your heart and merge in the buzz.
1 comment:
But it’s just a clearing, as beautiful
and transitory as this shiver in your feelings
and the wood is going to thicken once more over there
A shivery read indeed, the sort of shiver I enjoy.
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