i feel the roots of the earth climb into my veins
as i am claimed like a vine
into the fecund moulder of soil
and this happens even as i walk
as plasma exchanges through invisible lymph
clear as it is black, and deep as space
i cannot leave her, this mother of mine
though i may lay my body down beyond the milky way
this mother
permeates beyond all knowing
and my father, oh! he is in my walls
as we breathe each other, in concert
clear and cold, like winter sun
we are delight!
the light!
the one-eye, all seeing
this eagle has no mercy
all truth is flayed to marrow
and thrown to the mother
in the kitchen, stirring her
dark belly
and nowhere can i go beyond love
i look behind and within to hear only the wind
echoing some lost chimes of me
echoing lost sentiment through forgotten chambers
of a heart long since dismembered
and split asunder
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I try to understand the mother-as-earth myth and the father-as-light myth and that love becomes more or less the space between or the tension wires between the myths. But let not your heart be dismembered nor split. Too painful. The wind, the chimes -- beautiful imagery. I more and more often feel the pull of earth, of soil, as though if I were to lie down upon it I would sink into the prairie, the leaf mould, and only the wind over my lying down space would tell that I had ever been.
ReplyDeleteyes - though it was not the myth of which i spoke, more how it simply trellised itself
ReplyDeleteso it is not about any thing, not a turning to think about, but simply a stroll through the garden where walt meets mary ;-)