13.1k views, 2xBest Poetry Period. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind. |
Not out of the woods yet, where birch peel black scrolls, yield novels dream-carved. Ferns snap back, lash my bare thighs. Toads flit further along, trail toward a calling rush. Metaphysical memory visually runs ahead, beneath a canopy. Spry legs hasten to the bank. Tethered crafts of colored rubber heave! ho! Shouting swimmers, splash, cavort to and fro! They hold hued bottles high, like a toast. Finding no footing, black mud guards a creek, raging like a river. Moss stone, cedes a spot to put in my float, tube a rocky, hairy scene. Most play hooky like me, to stream unfettered. Yoke-free in hidden scene, on currents we roll. Happily sprayed, foot navigate jutting stumps. Legs up, or scrape skin. Arms shove, twirling, when we spy that serene opening. Sun smooth settles on glass. Bugs skitter across, fish mouth bubbles, plunge our surface. The gushing gone in a chasm of sunlit dreams, slowing time unseen. I spin my craft, dunk toes, gulp and belch amber. Silent, not a croak, nor whisper, we scan trees, tasseling leaves topsy-turvy. A crow leaps down, swoops from dead branch. Flung again, ears recall a rush calling, beg lonely and forgotten, sail free. Warm, eyes heal. Chest scarcely heaves, when I breathe. Cresting toward the sugar shore, ahead they carry wood for fire. My watery mouth craves smoked meat and whatever else exhumed from styrofoam coolers. Limp, we dry, settle in heaps on sand to sleep, filled. Summer season’s cures never-ending, we regale. Jet black dome, specked bright white, shutters watery eyes. Red skin cools beneath an eve spread. Downy and exhausted, we scale access to gravel lot, load up, fight off insistent mosquitos, shove off. Anchored, I’ll dream my body stream a hurling rush. 3.22.22 36 lines, free verse 2nd place @
|