Echoes of Stillness
The path to my childhood
leads to a field, bright with sun,
bread and memory.
Field grasses quiver
and the ground is hot and firm,
yet breathes like skin.
The waiting seems to last
I feel prickly in the oven-heat.
Then the field opens, wide as the horizon.
My wet palms
receive the seeds, the scent of shifting wind.
Seedling becomes flower,
familiar with the gossip of insects.
The grasses speak with new confidence
and soon birth seeds of their own.
The sun bows and peers distantly
through the leaves of the trees,
whose sheltering canopy
I press the leaves in
this book stained with sweaty fingerprints,
down the road.
[Originally published in Jittering Microscope #6, 1992]