New Nature, Christian Schloe
I do not need to turn and look back.
i have been here
before
Some things are
just as they have always been:
The sky is fixed
above the horizon like an
O’Keeffe landscape.
The sun quivers like smoke
inside my eyes.
The dry leaves lie
sporadic and listless
on the ground.
The path follows
a swift meandering line.
I walk. But, now…
i’m so tired of
pretending
This is as far as my feet will bring me.
I stand at the water’s edge—a fishhook
smoldering in my hand.
I cast. I bait. I switch.
The fish scatter.
I free my hands from all burden.
My fingers filter the sunlight—hook its
flames in a dance of latitude.
I sketch upon myself a raindrop,
a blade of grass,
a swan.
Bliss weaves my body
with movement and light.
My chest rises like an unbottled cloud.
I am twirling,
lifting,
airborne.
Look at me.
Look…
I beseech you.
