West wind

When the sun goes down
the roses
fling off their red dresses
and put on their black dresses
the wind is coming
over the sandy streets
of the town called moonlight
with his long arms
with his silver mouth
his hands
humorous at first
then serious
then crazy
touching their faces their dark petals
until they begin rising and falling:
the honeyed seizures.
All day they have been busy being roses
gazing responsible over the sand
into the sky into the blue ocean
so now why not
a little comfort
a little rippling pleasure

You there, puddled in lamplight at your midnight desk—
you there, rewriting nature
so anyone can understand it—

what will you say about the roses—
their sighing, their tossing—
and the want of the heart,
and the trill of the heart,
and the burning mouth
of the wind?


The trees have become
suddenly very happy
it is the rain
it is the quick white summer rain
the trees are in motion under it
they are swinging back and forth they are tossing
the heavy blossoms of their heads
they are twisting their shoulders
even their feet chained to the ground feel good
thin and gleaming
nobody can prove it but any fool can feel it
they are full of electricity now and the shine isn’t just pennies
it pours out from the deepest den
oh pretty trees
patient deep-planted
may you have many such days
flinging your bodies in silver circles shaking your heads
over the swamps and the pastures
rimming the fields and the long roads hurrying by

Our life is a journey. It will often have times of difficulty and storms. We need not, face them alone. Rebecca S Revels


Have you noticed? how the rain
falls soft as the fall
of moccasins. Have you noticed?
how the immense circles still,
stubbornly, after a hundred years,
mark the grass where the rich droppings
from the roaring bulls
fell to the earth as the herd stood
day after day, moon after moon
in their tribal circle, outwaiting
the packs of yellow-eyed wolves that are also
have you noticed? gone now.
Once only, and then in a dream,
I watched while, secretly
and with the tenderness of any caring woman,
a cow gave birth
to a red calf, tongued him dry and nursed him
in a warm corner
of the clear night
in the fragrant grass
in the wild domains
of the prairie spring, and I asked them,
in my dream I knelt down and asked them
to make room for me

The Wood beyond the World (10)
©buron ‘14