Arsenic Lobster
poetry journal |
Issue Twenty Summer 2009 |
CYPRESSES Davide Trame A row of them uphill like steps in a ladder. Standing out in their green among the wintry hanging oaks' scaly skin. Green blades, alluring a quiet breeze, with a busy, tight swarm of eyes inside overlapping. Walking by them we sense the stones in the soil crowding like jewels in dry mud, clay, a knuckled life, a gathering and scattering of hooves' taps along rocks' crests and a deer's flash, a rolling ibex, antlers reeling, lit dust. The richness of earth's limbs, its indented ribs and alveoli. Our gaze on them as mute as a gaze can be, on the swaying and flickering of these self-trimmed green flames. By them we feel more vertical at each step, dots in the sky's steady swarm, still though forward-going, brightly torn. |
About Davide Trame |