Sometimes after thunderous dreams you love
the peace of violet music early in the shy,
You take that risk of hot tea, with its
peacock eyes looking to you
You walk out into a busy green forest and hear
its grid of swallowing, chewing, yawning, spawning, dripping,
growing, and being
beautiful. You love the green deep purpose though it is far from
the safety of a hot birch log at home consuming
orange peels, junk mail, and time.
You, too mannerly, or brave for abandon, still look
away from the chaos as you chew love delicately into
every word you whisper.
And you realize toward exactly what that green flame
reaches, a mirror to your own
You give a passing nod to the signs of neon culture,
inky affirmations, and blinking academic lullabies:
Lovely, lovely, lovely.
But, being home, in your passive eminence, you become
again, as you were in the long dark forest, belonging.
Unwrapping your heart of its golden foil.
You sway your arms now high like sea grass
in the air, eyes open. A swaggering but sacred song finds
its way up, up, up to your new mouth.
You dare right into this moment,
this prophetic belonging, because it is something
- much like love.
It is something that calls out for its own name playfully, slyly,
inversely proportionate to the impossibility of being called
anything at all.
Jill Cooper ©2014