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Saturday, January 06, 2007

Blueberry Clouds

a running stream
came out of the mountains,
trees along both sides of
its rocky throne,
as we lay in deep valleys
to pick blueberry clouds,

ripe fields of grain whooshed
the wind to be still,
but the wind rose on,
belligerent and straight ahead,

lifted to a little peak,
to shake what was left
of an old castle on the hill,
as though its stony buildings
would reply to its kissing breath,

brook blue hands of a river
going right up to its walls
shifted with the wind,
and stirred watching as
we become one that day,
while the day divided into two.

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