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Air - Silver

Missing image
Air

There is no argument about what air is and what it is not.
Geese, slanting off into alphabet essence and absence,
is Air.  Slow spiral of eagle tightening, tightening
into little dangerous dots, is Air.  Birds are Air.

Leaves lifting like little palms are Air. Willows
whipping a felt froth along a crawling creek are Air.
Those little spaces between pine needles clattering,
like long-in-the-tooth elders are Air.  Yes, cracks
between long leaning limbs of every tree are Air.

You, seeking sounds and love, atop a Herculean climb,
where heaven caresses your limbs, ruffles your hair,
lifts your dress, oh, yes, that is air indeed:  A lost breath
that whispers names and places and dates into your pores
and leaves you feeling loved.  Again.  Oh, dear Air.

It ends, at the exact point that feather, skidding to splash down.
It is not that space between soil and root.  Air is not
that push down feeling when you are curled in want and loathing
under wrap of grief cocooned with bedcovers, tacked to bed
with a wish to sink.  No, that is not Air.

It is that which calls rise, and dance and climb and kiss;
that immediate space between you and God.  Something
that fills you with an ecstasy so that lift of wing, clap of leaves
and stretch of arms, at highest, or lowest point of life,
and being embraced by gasp of God.
Now, that is Air.

Author notes

Addenum after contest...for Night Hope who I need to fly to inspire me. Get better soon, my friend...we have miles to fly...we have miels to fly.

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Comments


  • lovelifelive gold member
    October 11, 2007

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    beautiful words
    for a beautiful picture
    indeed you pen air as no one ever could
    flowing freely this piece embraces air
    leave you tryin to capture the air you pen.
    congrauds of the trophy.
    Cori


  • EvilKate
    September 4, 2007

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    It is air indeed ... and by it's movement this poem is wind - thank you for never ceasing to fill this stain with breath and freshness ... so wonderful