— for R.B. Ginsburg
Let us not lean, thick on our haunches,
drool on our chins in the tall grass
that bounds the clearing. This is
not the time to seize the body
and rip the greater share.
Rather, let us take to our bellies,
know hunger as virtue, and turn
our eyes to the tongues that lap
the sky and draw forth rain —
turn our eyes to the ember risen,
The ember fallen not as ash
but fervent lime. What greater praise
than to rest and wait, reposed —
still beneath night’s black hide,
mournful of the meat exposed
And the all consuming blaze
that burnished dawn’s red debate.
Image: dominik reallife on Unsplash
still beneath night’s black hide
Devon. We carry a heavy baggage of time’s detritus.
Yes, and methinks we sift through our trash heap too partial to the trend of the day and I am certain that among the slag are many forgotten treasures or buried treasures cast off as unworthy of reverence.
Yes. I think and hope that that is true Devon. Uninvited thoughts, flashes of remembrance, when and where and what and how we felt…