In Andalusia

in the foothills

hooves sinking in loam

amid fallen oranges…

& amid another grove

hooves pressed leaves

twigs grass into the loam

& the loam sprang back…

trying to avoid that grove

but she always confronted me

& weakening i stumbled

into the impress the loam had prepared

hooves lightly on my bones

skin dried by sun

untouched avoided as carrion

& always she was coming towards me

but let me hear she was approaching

while skin swollen

flesh leaving the bone

senses slowed to the rhythm of the grove

which knew seasons and not days

& always she approached me

but she did not come

& i knew she would not

& i could not go or stay

knowing and not knowing

for a moment

i was happy

*

on the night of storm

the sea spat stones

sand girdled the stones

stones lay 

traversed by stars

the land

recumbent

nude drowning

silence breaking on beaches

polyps coral world

colored words

born of foam

rinsed by brine

ova broken on beaches

& in the morning

high snow topped the sierras

gleaming day of mules

pine trails wands of bamboo

oxen & horses

bells jingling

hooves on the beach

 

wound & woven

safe kept in softness

there

& there there

kelp   tow   pebble  strand

gull urchin

anemone

fretful follows the sea

Dick Russell © 2024

Richard M Russell

From Chapman Dick Russell issue, Scotland, 1975