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Abundant Rain of the Heavy

by Tom Goss

Stirred to consciousness,
the murmur of slumber is broken by
the muffled hooting of a Barred Owl,
in search of a mate.

In a single day our unsteadily descending lives
can swing from muffled obliteration
to the loftiest intoxication,
powered only by the renewable fumes
that emanate from lovestruck eyes.

Inconsolably open door,
where are all the shadows hidden when I glowingly wither
in the constellation of her fountain light?

Her nocturnal voice is never awkward,
and in the quiet silence I can walk
into the shuddering wind unprotected.
She cools and settles the world,
whispers me into pieces
and then: hand to skin,
leaves me intact.

Grief is not the innocence of the animal voices;
it is the repetition of selective deafness
which turns their darkly-lit lives invisible
for the sake of a bite to eat.

I was guilty.
I did not see their diffuse suffering.
I did not comprehend the primacy of plants.

(We fell into truth, thrashing in pain
as we realized what we had been chewing
and nodding yes to . . .)

Thorns. Thorns without thorns.

We respect the strength of an extraordinary mother,
because once we all were babbling
and helpless.

Startled soul, nurture her vibrancy
and thrive: even the fallen trees
are echoing with life,
so let us again fall in love
in this forest world
of primal sound.

Through teeth, this tongue stumbles
into the sayable.

The screeching violin strings
escape into grimaces
because we've all lied before
about being able to play this
instrument of life.

Yet we must laugh and at least attempt
to love the simple glory of our emotion,
because the art of twisting further
into our hearts comes naturally
(somewhere within, we are warm
and animal and knowing).

Staying within the curve of now
means seeing beyond our constant mistakes
and into the peaceful and knowing veins
of freshly flowing childhood innocence.

In hope and wetness we spring,
lip to lip, hand over hand.

Staring at this heavy-mountain vastness,
gazing into the mirror-like current
of your seductive and unbroken heart-stream
I see the repetition of our kisses
permanently dissolving into the running water:
in the midst of this world's winter
we are endlessly spring.

In the midst of this world's winter
we are endlessly spring.


Author's Note: Please check out my new book! ;)>

Posted on 05/08/2007
Copyright © 2024
Tom Goss

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Rebecca Andre on 01/01/14 at 05:12 AM

Reminds me eerily of a poem I wrote here back in 2003. http://www.blurty.com/talkread.bml?journal=starhungry&itemid=3596

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