Him, the wind, is rattling my door
Like someone trying to get in.
I think that someone could be trying the knob
But it sounds like only the wind.
Archive for December 11, 1992
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if I could give you a Crow
– as if a Crow would be mine
to give – I would
give you a Crow, black and fearless
to fly before you
herding your dreams
like a best friend who knew your mind.
a Crow, wise with the wind
and a crafty scavenger, like its kind;
always willing and able to find
each puzzle-piece of happiness,
every thing you could do.
Untitled Poem #138
Posted: December 11, 1992 in PoetryTags: Anger, Coyote, Death, Eagle, Forest, Frog, Love, Sad, World
he thought of strength
in terms of eagles and coyotes:
creatures of power,
of flight and of prey.
he could hear the frogs croak
for him and for the death
he knew was behind his shoulder.
he knew that his writing
had changed. he knew that
he needed to live very differently;
to tell those he loved
how he felt, angry or sad
and live as a warrior who has
stopped the world from turning
without his knowledge.
he wanted most of all
to hold himself, that part
of his being who saw and
who guided him through
the forests and others
that he could write about
but couldn’t thread.
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