Let Birds (M.A. Reilly, 2017) |
Let Birds
Eight deer on the slope
in the summer morning
mist.
The night sky blue.
Me like a mare let out to
pasture.
The Tao does not console
me.
I was given the Way
in the milk of
childhood.
Breathing it waking and
sleeping.
But now there is no
amazing smell
of sperm on my thighs,
no spreading it on my
stomach
to show pleasure.
I will never give up
longing.
I will let my hair stay
long.
The rain proclaims these
trees,
the trees tell of the sun.
Let birds, let birds.
Let leaf be passion.
Let jaw, let teeth, let
tongue be
between us. Let joy.
Let entering.
Let rage and calm join.
Let quail come.
Let winter impress you.
Let spring.
Allow the ocean to wake in
you.
Let the mare in the field
in the summer morning mist
make you whinny. Make you
come
to the fence and whinny.
Let birds.
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