We will walk
Where the sun drips like honey,
Just past,
The horizon.
How, in only our eyes
I see the birth
Of every moment.
What do we say
When we look away?
Will we yet be
As the dust in summer?
Childish,
In the roots,
Of an olive tree.
Tag: Olive Tree
Our Inheritance
Our inheritance, an emptiness
In our hands that thinks her sweet oil
Squeezed by a seasons forthcomingness.
The seasons themselves… the thought that all
Of them are her leaves will leave us better
Fools, squeezing in drier fields till naked
We could see her. And, then, do we take her?
Do we try again, as unintended?
Oh that the ground, laden with leaves after
our stay, can breath prayer over laughter!
