The Cypress

Oh to be a cypress overlooking the sea, midway

a crumbling

cliff  of rock

laugher and slow time

– solitary

except for you, my love.

you will be the wind rushing
me, thrashing me with

rain and sea mist and salt

and I will be pliable for you.
My arms will turn in a slow dance, an ode

and you will know me by my branch



Where a woodpecker will come

and make

my arms a flute and together the music we make
will ride currents of air,

through the fog of a long dreamt

dream of our astonishment,

lifting the wings
of a heron, whose piercing cry

will tell well  the gods

of us.


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