| 12/01/08 11:53 PM |
#1375
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Troy Davis
hey it's december, so i'm writing poems, that's (sort of) what i do for a living, so here it is....
december song
In moments like these when December deals
A scene of fallen leaves and boiling tea,
Abandoned gloves piled high in the foyer,
A child might interrogate the poplar,
Protest the soil, while cool winds shimmy
An incomprehensible leaf, colorfully dead
In a dance of parting that he knows it must feel.
December brings the animals looking for food
When the hunter’s rifle clap stops games
Under quilts, when the cold hands of lovers
Are pushed away, when doors open to strangers
Who leave puddles on the floor and disturb the flames
Of candles whose shadows exaggerate reluctant
Gestures made over stacks of wood.
Other riddles come upon a man of bigger dust
At books of accumulated suns read at midnight
In rooms where drafts begin to inhabit sighs;
Like why in the summer the orchard keeper lied
About the ease of cider with this year’s blight
Or why stories of misplaced rakes come out of yawns
As if being found comes from being lost.
Through windows taped shut, crows
Stand in reaped fields scratched red.
And from long vowels come effortless creeds,
The hand for the plow folds receipts of seed,
While what is already lost is never said.
Toddies of impossible potencies lose heat
And in the after brandy tones I tell what I know.
Troy Davis 2008
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