Tuesday, January 12, 2010

The Wild

THE WILD

If I am not the mountains
Or the bucolic hills of jade
Not the gaping winged songstress
Or the widowed fawn’s still gaze,
Then I am not.

And if I am not the melting snow
Or the raging river stream
Not the earth upon her axis
The sun gleaning through the trees,
Then I am not.

If the wild’s not tied up in me
Like an eternal, unwinding string,
If the wild is not made of me,
Then I don’t mean a thing.
And I am not.

K.A. Phinney

3 comments:

  1. What a beautiful poem! Great imagery, I wish I could write poems like this. Thanks for sharing!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Oh, thank you so much for the kind words. I've been writing poetry for, let's see, almost 15 years, and I learn a great deal from teaching it and being taught.

    If it speaks to you, I am very humbled.

    ReplyDelete

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