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Aroma of Grass

Until I reclined 
in summer's warmth, 
aroused by the fragrance 
of fresh cut grass, 
blades piercing 
into my disfigured flesh;
I didn't believe 
I was back home from the hospice--
back stricken 
from the conflict 
of the surgeon's scalpel:
I started to rise 
but the weight of the sun 
flaunted my weakness, 
Drunkenly, I climbed the hilltop 
like a child, wrapped 
in the sweet fragrance of grass. 

Episode

It was the wrong season
to reach beyond ambiance;
in retrospect 
I should have stayed in bed, 
waited another season, another time.
The suns ray's claw 
tearing night's shroud, revealing mist hovering, 
lingering... a lover
trembling for release from earth's bed. 
I reached for you beside, futile,
you whom I do not know, 
in this silent solitude:

Its self-enlightening 
coping isolated-- 
Dementias leap at you devour you 
entice you.

I consider this dramatic joy
when space rushes up at you
to swallow you in deepest shadows,
when light touches inner fiber;
falling I call the wind, the elements to my side,
burrow in autumn's faltering bed.
If you hear anguished storms,
know they pass
across this island, cast in remoteness:

I reach for you
whoever you are; rise 
break in to my existence...
waves across a desolate rock, pounding
to your touch:
We will meet at the next juncture 
When the mist rises clear,
Where sails touch horizons,
Where twilight is absorbed 
Setting patterns of tomorrows
Expectations. 

I wait for you.

Symmetry

When I awakened
I was tired of the dream.

The mirror told me
a sad-eyed man
stayed with me all night,

waiting,
Waiting for dawn.

To rise...

Pledge

A band of Gold,
worn faithfully thirty years
round her finger,
did not count in her favor.
He covets youth,
fears age,
turns on it like a predator
to absolve his fear:
age is his master,
and she,
she is cast aside, discarded.
Age treats her cruelly
in the autumn of life...

© All Copyright, 2000, David Barnes.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.