Leaving the Plains
When they come for me,
I won't be here.
I'll be in the woods
Among the foxes and raccoons.
A tulip poplar
Will be my home.
I'll forage for pecans,
Hunt wild grapes,
Fish for bass and bream.
Deer will give me their lives.
Squirrels will bring me
Blackberries and walnuts.
Mint tea will sustain me
As I become the wind
That wraps the white oaks
In a balm of light.
Purified by my quest,
Green martyr for my faith,
I'll leave the woods
And make the world my home.
Prospero
I am a field,
Plowed and seeded
Waiting for rain.
When I am ripe,
My black silk streaming down,
I'll shuck my corn
In its green husks.
I'll feed myself
Myself.
I'll like the taste
Sweet
On my papillae
Then
When I am finished
Eating
I'll plow myself
Under
Turning my stalks
Into the ground
Providing the means
To conjure my return.
Balloon
Not a hot air balloon, the kind
You ride into the great silent air,
The silence like a mountain pool,
So still you are not conscious
Of motion until you drop off
The falls and then the rush and roar
of water that spills you
Into the next smooth still pool
And leaves you breathless.
A regular balloon, regular as life,
That goes about its business
Like the seasons: spin and turn,
Rise and fall, it whirrs
A lifetime on one breath alone.