Saturday, April 6, 2013

It was like the trees had opened their hands

After Spencer's 'Happy ye leaves! whenas those lily hands'

It was like the trees had opened their hands
for the breeze and clouds. The mysterious might
of weather rolled across the land in bands
that seemed of a purple hue to my poor sight
then faded into dim orange. The Sun's light
reveals the faith of flowers as I look
out past the bayou. I've muttered the infinite
so poorly, stammered through invented books
and praised inadequately. Love, sin has shook
my limbs as if they're branches in the twist
of storms. I dreamt an angel came and took
my hand, shouldered burdens, gave me bliss
I couldn't measure. The trees stand alone
and whisper with the mud about no one.

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