Guest guest Posted July 31, 2002 Report Share Posted July 31, 2002 The locusts have finished their ravage. To the sacrificed and desiccated boughs, they seem full and innocent and sage, as if they were the walnut's sons. And even the tree barely complains, for so much blue heals in its spaces. Life is attacking life without hatred. It abounds in the happy meadows where crickets are impassioned, cry by cry. At the very center of the young vines the red-scarfed head of a girl moves like a dot offered to each i. ~Rilke The red-scarfed girl, the meadow, every cricket cry amidst the vines -- all turning in a blueness swirling tree and locust equally into the vast approaching night, the moon-lace light, the star-spun night of some delight beyond the ken of color, keener than an insect's mouth upon a leaf of walnut, young vines winding secretly around themselves for comfort, extending life for sake of life, unconcerned their flowers at the dawn of day may blossom into meals for preying Shivas sitting fat upon the branches of the trees with roots in that same soil that anchors them beneath a sky that knows no light no dark no life no death no wonder. LoveAlways, Mazie & b Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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