I tiptoe like a beggar
If you hear me coming
I am ashamed
of my sounds...
I haven't seen the Nature spirits for a long time now.
Perhaps they hibernate in fear or shame, or are secretly
reworking the game plan to give us all a shock.
On days where the rain falls sideways I wander out
onto grassy paths and call to our hidden comrades
to forgive us our tresspasses and the ignorances
that seep like poison sperm from beneath our skin.
Really we are beautiful people I wish to tell them,
yet I am not convinced that an easy-tongue will persuade
the gentle wisdom of our soothsayer friends.
I wish they would come back bearing gifts
so that I could show them my poetry collection
and we could laugh like fools and drunken priests
for I miss the bliss of sodden earth, the bursting veins
of a shared and passionate rapture.