The Ash and the Spring
I watch the tension of colorless forms before me
They make advances at each other, smothering the in-between Like two faces moving near for a kiss
It’s wonderfully slow
I grow unsettled in the waiting
But it’s not two faces they are my hands
I keep imagining the water and the tree
I need them near to know their being on my frame
I press the particulates harder and harder into my hands This is how I feel them
This is how I know them in ways I can longer
The water says to me,
–I make the salty sea sweet.
–I make the city glad.
I long for this –I long for her.
The tree tells to me,
–My leaves are for healing.
So I grind the mountain ash into my flesh
I push and press the stinging cinders
I need whatever breath I can have from him
I ache to feel them both on my face.
The grey film covers me, bruises me, buries me I hear my heart beating in my chest
I hear the blood rushing in my head
There is patience here and protection