|In To The Hunger
||[May. 7th, 2005|09:09 am]
It was as if we were walking a famine road
the hills around us green, yet oddly barren,
studded with rock. A bleak beauty.
And I kept looking for the mountain lion
who had appeared to us the last time we walked
this path and fell in love. But she did not appear.
And the red-winged blackbirds took flight around us
and the wind hushed through the trees. I love that sound,
I said to you. But you couldn’t hear it.
And as we walked toward the ocean, we cleared
our path just as the hungry Irish did, we had our shovels
you dug your furrow, I settled into mine.
We knew the road would end. Our love would
become the sea lion, beached and reaching for the water,
moaning with fatigue, rearing its head in the futile
endeavor of returning home, of belonging to something
to someone to some place other than this beach
where we put down our shovels, laid our bodies on the sand,
folded our hands on our chests, felt the wind
wash over us, the sun heating our skin
one last time, together, we closed our eyes,
given in to the hunger, the waves as our witnesses,
the blackbirds in flight, two flames
perched on the darkness.