By César Love
I seek escape, not in
smoke
Not in drink
But in rocks I’ve gathered
None are boulders, few are
pebbles
The perfect mass gorges my
two hands
Hardness is my comfort,
density my high.
The Black One brings me to
outer space
The Purple, a utopian
palace
The Orange, a feast
devoured slowly
The Grey, a ferry to
oblivion
My comedown is softness
Reality, a sinkhole in
feathers
Below my pillow
I keep an opal
Always the Land
When the storms end, he is
quiet to all but the deaf
Many hear the whispers of
streams, the mumbles of rivers
But below the threshold of
a lapping pond
There are sounds as soft as
a tadpole’s heartbeat
At volumes quieter than
grass
The land delivers a wordless
sermon
You are free to leave
before the end, for the sermon has no end
Can you bear the spastic stillness?
If you can listen for ten
minutes, you are free to ask a question.
If you can listen for an
hour, you can ask for anything you need.
Ask what about your bees?
The trellis on your porch,
broken by the eight-foot weeds
It’s painted and repaired,
ready for the blossoms
To greet the sun and moon,
ready for the blossoms
To welcome back the bees.
Listen to the honey
spinning into gold
Ask what about the
blackout?
Remember the fireflies you
caught so long ago?
You hid them in a basement
jar.
Realize you’re one of
them.
Hands unlock the lid, hands
let all of you free.
Listen to the land echoing
your glow
Lake Chabot
Castro Valley, California
Blue water, mirror of day
Show us the breadth of the
sky
Dark water, mirror of
night
How lovely the moon on
your throat
Sweet water, ripples and
tides
Ladles of kisses
The brush of your tongue
moistens our clay
Deep water, so certain the
currents
Sleepless their movement
Sleepless your will
Still water, gentle the
splashes
So peaceful your power
So quiet creation
The Sprinklers
Surprised on sunny park
grass
The intrusion of sprinkler
water
Hidden fountains meant for
moonlight
Let loose by mistimed
dials
An accidental shower
Perhaps you scamper from
the grass
Safe and only a little wet
Perhaps they give you a
hearty splash
Soaked or dry
Savor the wet sparklers
The cool of deepsome wells
This is not the Alhambra
This is not Niagara
Small rainbows
The rise and fall of water
drops
An arc of musical notes
Spiring to the sky
In love enough
To fall to Earth.
© César
Love. All rights reserved.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: César Love writes poems about displacement
and the search for home. He can be found at open mics of the San Francisco Bay
Area. His new book of poems is titled Birthright.
http://cesarlovepoetry.yolasite.com/
http://cesarlovepoetry.yolasite.com/
