Friday, December 20, 2013

The wet dawn inks






Winter Trees

The wet dawn inks are doing their blue dissolve.
On their blotter of fog the trees
Seem a botanical drawing --
Memories growing, ring on ring,
A series of weddings.

Knowing neither abortions nor bitchery,
Truer than women,
They seed so effortlessly!
Tasting the winds, that are footless,
Waist-deep in history --

Full of wings, otherworldliness.
In this, they are Ledas.
O mother of leaves and sweetness
Who are these pietàs?
The shadows of ringdoves chanting, but chasing nothing.


Sylvia Plath



 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

2 comments:

  1. Stunning Cait. Great poem choice too.

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  2. Impressive photos. Beautifully underlined by the poem. Thank you.

    ReplyDelete