photo : Peter Shefler, visual artist and poet
We collide in a tender fugue
reeds with slender necks
jostling against each other by wind
and circumstance
We are fragile
beings rushing through time
as if it were of no consequence
bumps and bruises crushing
red stains into our skin
panes where air is thin
and the soul breathes
more visibly
purpura witnessing
where words will not
How we suffer from small
wounds
we inflict unconsciously
intentional tramplings
in the fields. We wield
power carelessly
or not at all, watch silently
as another brother
goes down; a sister falls
in the moonlight
Oh, the terrible ways we fail
each other, refusing to speak
allowing the wind to carry our pain
over the horizon in soundless
ripples until — like wolves drawn to blood —
the ones with scythes come to cut
our necks and leave us rootless
from the land
…
A majestic note on the inhumanity, the “slings & arrows of outrageous fortune” we are subject to. Yet written with a sweet background melody of compassion and the balm of the natural world.
Beautiful, my friend.