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Thinking Plague
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Rapture of the Deep (For Leslie) (excerpt)
You will not find me
if I go in ashes, earth or stone
nor yellowed photos
etched by teardrops.
Memories die,
and summer's flowers
shrivel in the cold.
My spirit will not linger on
in objects, clothing, art or home,
but I will be safe where mountains
catch the sea.
Look for me
where salt and snow are mingling,
where the forget-me-nots and purple gentians
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drink the sea.
Life flows like water
Roots grow together
Like seeds hearts harden
Like flowers soon open
Youth plays in shallows
Man swims through deep channels
Where waters meet
And when the evening tide flows in,
we'll drown the sea thrift in the brine,
and we'll dance where mountains
march to sea.
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