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Poem of the Month - February 2002
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from Gathering Wild

          Feed blood to a ghost, he will answer you truly.
                     - The Odyssey, Book XI

There's the thinned out end
of the nowhere fish
writhing silver, vanishing
into another dimension --

the moving edge of someone gone
who's come back begging to be refleshed
restless to fill human eyes with himself.

Catching at firs, he riffles the lake,
takes the glance of a heedless child
crouched in the shallows examining stones
and hungrily strokes the side of his face,
his sinewed arms, in terrible need
to be close to what lives.

All day he roved the hills
like the questioning hands of the blind,
and all last night in the deep pine woods
he moaned.

Near now he lifts a leaf, a wisp of my hair
tugging and smoothing, works to get in,
whines to inhabit being;

and I yield to his lostness,
open my mouth and breathe in
letting him sigh in my throat
letting him sing
his soleful song "I am, I am".

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