Her dark fingers reach through
deep dreams
and throw spiderling
threads around our hearts –
citybound far too long.
The silk draws us
close to Her
green forested body.
We desire
the air that smells
primal,
like black earth –
like rushing snowmelt –
and banks chilled silver
in evening’s
last light.
I dream again of
liquid mercury
pooled in a track
left
by a great bear –
he watched me from
the rise, above, in that
same kind of light.
In my dream
I fit my small boot
easily within the
span of that wild print
and shiver, feral.
Rocks and tree trunks
inhale
fresh new Spring.
Curtains of newly hatched
lacewings choke the air
and tease trout
from their deep slumber
in
shadowed pools.
We long for her,
our Goddess,
we crave the cool
dark beneath the trees,
the electric air
of mountain afternoons,
the duff softened
footfall on
Spring watered grass.
I close my eyes and
remember landing
at the Southeast arm
like an explorer
in the New World.
Everything was dripping
green with rain
and the exhalation
of grass and trees.
Anything was possible
for She had given
you to me –
and you were
all around.
I can’t believe I am only the second blogger to like this poem, and the first to comment. Your poem is so richly beautiful. I am extremely impressed by your images and your use of sound that make me see hear, feel, and covet the forest all at the same time. Wonderful work, Primitive State!
Thanks, Elaine! Rags has an almost mystical eye for light, and the forest inspires her in ways both poetic and profound. We’ve only just launched this blog, so be sure to check back often.