Tuesday, June 21, 2011

"Summer Solstice," by Donna Kane

                                        The light stretched and tangy, up on its horse
                                        and riding through the ripening meadows,
                                        buzzing the leaves and the
                                        birds who've been at it for hours.
                                        Light that in its excess has become something else.
                                        The way Cranberry Falls is so frothed with runoff
                                        it doesn't look like water anymore. The way you look
                                        from a hill's highest point, your head full of chlorophyll,
                                        heart shucking winter like a clayload of guilt,
                                        like pollen with its open fire policy
                                        compensating loss. You exceed yourself,
                                        tanked on the light and the birds
                                        who've been singing forever.
                                         "Summer Solstice," Donna Kane,  published in The Walrus, June 2007.

No comments:

Post a Comment