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Sometimes if you stand in just this corner of the car-park

Soft fronds will caress your face from the yew-tree forest

That grew on the flattened hillside here; your hand stretching out will encounter

Twisted, hair-cracked and creviced roughened tree-trunks.

Sometimes a plastic bag will waft across like a ghost

Through the enchanted long-dead forest and out again.

 

Here where the stabilised ferry hums through grey-green waters

Under that crazy-angled floating box

The mastodon fell and was butchered, the people rested from hunting

Wolverine waited and watched and the warning snowflakes

Silently fell on the skins and the lichens and lips.

 

The exiled unbroken woman drops a stone in the glade

That she found on the shore where the boat bumped in and grounded

Her feet make a pattern like a broken necklace

Through the green grass and unfolding ferns and last year’s leaves.

Perhaps she returned to the marks she left or even

Perhaps she will return when the old leaves grow green

And the order of things that we knew is thrown up in the branches

And falls in a different pattern we sensed all along.

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6 Comments

  1. Caddo Veil

     /  January 18, 2012

    Remarkable–that’s all that comes to me, remarkable. The images, thoughts–remarkable.

    Reply
  2. Ferns, fractals, greening fragrance, thanks for the experience of the experience 🙂

    Reply
  3. I love it when the soft fronds caress her face and the patterns fall into place. Enchanting!

    Reply
  4. Ah, trippy links of the history of a location, multiple dimensions, quantum physics…so many links this could be describing.

    “And the order of things that we knew is thrown up in the branches
    And falls in a different pattern…”

    I love that.

    Reply

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