Posted by: scintillatingspeck | June 1, 2013

All that matters.

In my friends’ garden
I slash weeds, solitary
in the succulence of
birdsong, June sun–
my hair upswept,
my hands wielding a sharp blade,
sweat dripping
beneath my breasts
into wet ovals
on my shirt.

The mourning doves moan
their haunting love songs
without restraint
into hazy, sensuous air,
their call-and-response
continuous, romantic
ambient sound.

Red-winged blackbirds
announce decisively how
oh-oh-sweeeeet it is
here, with genuine friends
who receive my love-labor easily
and relinquish me into their forest
having fed me and laden my pockets
with loyalty and handmade songs.

Last night I stood alone in the open field,
the sky above speckled with fireflies,
the meadows below brimming with stars,
wide-eyed, watching love wheel
in endless scintillating patterns,
listening to the music of a million insects
relentlessly naming
all that matters.

It’s only this:
watching and listening,
receiving and giving,
cutting away that which needs cutting,
wandering, plummeting into
the forested, feral heart
to discover love bloomed overnight,
a flush of fungi,
beneath the trees.


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