Tuesday, January 3, 2017

Going Inland



for Joy McCall

















who lives 
on your inner island
she asks—
dipping my silent oars
I glide toward the answer

a sorrel mare
at the water’s edge
drinking deeply
dripping moonlight
we find the inland path

in a hut
fragrant with dried thyme
the old crone
at the hearthstone
feeds a flame with her words

at sunup
the reedy sound 
of piping
from a fold in the hills
where no path leads

clasping 
the hand of a blind harper,
I follow 
the song of the brook,
the whisper of trees


~Skylark 4:2, Winter 2016

2 comments:

  1. Glad to see you posting again here! What a gorgeous journey to your inner island.

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  2. Thanks, Janet! Yes, I'm trying to get back to posting here after a long hiatus--other projects interfered!

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