"Driven" - First Draft
We were children, once,
in the middle of a suburban street,
breaking into the forbidden night
with a dream raging in our minds, soldiering us
to the beat of its eager drum. You pointed up
into the dark starlit sky, at the trapeze of telephone wires
above our heads and said you could feel the buzzing
like a tattoo needle beneath your skin.
We hopped a fence, talked of a midnight swim,
dangled virgin feet by the poolside and peered
into the mirrored center
of our universe.
It’s a young spring morning
and the birds are sounding their wake-up call,
never missing a note.
When the chirping stops, scared off by the loud
hiss of a bus in transit,
we are all up from our nests,
driven by the rush, that massive push --
Hurry, chafes the voice.
I think of Kunitz in his end days,
scuffling the garden path in his house slippers,
counting new bulbs, carefully
plucking the dried ends of old ones,
slowly and quietly repeating the lines in his head,
driven by a rush, a massive push,
of something more sacred,
stronger and deeper, and yet he moved
among the bush bottoms like a humpbacked turtle,
stretching a wrinkled paper neck
to peer into the mirrored center
of the universe.
I feel like this poem wants to say more in the middle. It's been hard to squeeze out words today, like trying to wring water from a dry towel.
I woke up this morning starving for the depth of spirit that use to pervade my life. Of course, I know it's always there, but more a matter of whether or not we're paying attention to it - giving it room to reveal itself. I miss long quiet mornings. I miss having someone to talk nature with -- Nature, is my religion. I worship nature the way a Christian bows in front of a holy cross. I burn to spend every moment submerged in a forest, in the dirt, tending to God's intricate dress. Nature is where I can touch God, where I can feel God, smell God... SEE God. Even in the city, I've been able to keep this love, this relationship alive. I made time for it. Sometimes, I stray from the table where it and I meet. I get more absorbed in other things, drifting farther and farther away until I wake up one morning, aching with need.
I remember when we use to make love, and everything felt so fresh... on mornings like these. The need wasn't there. My cups were full and brimming.
We were children, once,
in the middle of a suburban street,
breaking into the forbidden night
with a dream raging in our minds, soldiering us
to the beat of its eager drum. You pointed up
into the dark starlit sky, at the trapeze of telephone wires
above our heads and said you could feel the buzzing
like a tattoo needle beneath your skin.
We hopped a fence, talked of a midnight swim,
dangled virgin feet by the poolside and peered
into the mirrored center
of our universe.
It’s a young spring morning
and the birds are sounding their wake-up call,
never missing a note.
When the chirping stops, scared off by the loud
hiss of a bus in transit,
we are all up from our nests,
driven by the rush, that massive push --
Hurry, chafes the voice.
I think of Kunitz in his end days,
scuffling the garden path in his house slippers,
counting new bulbs, carefully
plucking the dried ends of old ones,
slowly and quietly repeating the lines in his head,
driven by a rush, a massive push,
of something more sacred,
stronger and deeper, and yet he moved
among the bush bottoms like a humpbacked turtle,
stretching a wrinkled paper neck
to peer into the mirrored center
of the universe.
I feel like this poem wants to say more in the middle. It's been hard to squeeze out words today, like trying to wring water from a dry towel.
I woke up this morning starving for the depth of spirit that use to pervade my life. Of course, I know it's always there, but more a matter of whether or not we're paying attention to it - giving it room to reveal itself. I miss long quiet mornings. I miss having someone to talk nature with -- Nature, is my religion. I worship nature the way a Christian bows in front of a holy cross. I burn to spend every moment submerged in a forest, in the dirt, tending to God's intricate dress. Nature is where I can touch God, where I can feel God, smell God... SEE God. Even in the city, I've been able to keep this love, this relationship alive. I made time for it. Sometimes, I stray from the table where it and I meet. I get more absorbed in other things, drifting farther and farther away until I wake up one morning, aching with need.
I remember when we use to make love, and everything felt so fresh... on mornings like these. The need wasn't there. My cups were full and brimming.
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