Читать книгу In the Same Place - N. Thomas Johnson-Medland - Страница 11

Standing firm

and facing into

the edges of these hills

into the edges

of those valleys

and

the river

out along

the far reaches;

I am able

to slow enough

to hear

only the wind

dancing

with the

leaves and tiny

branches

of the trees.

I can hear

an underlying

melody cascading

up and out of

the Delaware

as it courses

with power through

the red shale Gap.

It is from this place,

it is in that melody

I hear the subtle

variations that

my heart has learned

to long for.

A melody that sings

to me of beehives

and of doves;

of loamy

woodland trails

and knolls.

It is here I have

learned to sing of

what a man is when

there is no movement out

and away from the center.

Sloping Appalachians,

rising up among the

foothills of my youth;

you have consumed me

and left me

mesmerized

by the shrill trill

of your insects

and birds,

of your tree frogs

and raccoons.

I am lost

in a cacophony

that has destroyed

the mayhem of

civilized existence.

It is gone.