heorte: (Default)
ellis ginsberg. ([personal profile] heorte) wrote 2020-01-26 03:59 am (UTC)

mutatis mutandis, mary szybist

Pebbles, leaves, rain—
they disappear into the river.
Even the shadows of the black branches above
(their bark peeling like thick burnt paper) disappear.

But we don't disappear:
Not into the breeze: it brushes
against the pale sides of our arms
(rustle of dry leaf against wood, quick suckle
of an inhale, cool shearing of cracks)—

Granted, this is not a world that keeps us.

Granted, there are some sadnesses
in which I do not long for God.

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