..
I have this one last
word for the wind,
this one blossom stir;
this one inward snail,
this one loosed shadow.
Whether I tether my
self to her tendriled fingers,
or strum her music into
my skin and set her free
still remains
to be seen.
I gotta go
she murmurs.
And I say, I know.
We all do.
..
Prompted by Poetic Asides April PAD Challenge, day 21,
after this poem by Theodore Roethke:
A Light Breather
The spirit moves,
Yet stays:
Stirs as a blossom stirs,
Still wet from its bud-sheath,
Slowly unfolding,
Turning in the light with its tendrils;
Plays as a minnow plays,
Tethered to a limp weed, swinging,
Tail around, nosing in and out of the current,
Its shadows loose, a watery finger;
Moves, like the snail,
Still inward,
Taking and embracing its surroundings,
Never wishing itself away,
Unafraid of what it is,
A music in a hood,
A small thing,
Singing.
– Theodore Roethke
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