Don't you know
This is precisely what I seek, mad myself
To envelope every last drupe and pearl shaped ovule,
Every nip and cry and needle-fine boring, every drooping,
Spore-rich tassle of oak flower, all the whistling,
Wing-beating, heavy-tipped matings of an entire prairie
Of grasses, every wafted, moaning seed hook
You can possibly manage to bring to me,
That is exactly what I contrive to take you into my arms
With you, again and again.

Pattiann Rogers

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Mothers,fathers,our kind,tell me again that death doesn't matter.Tell me it's just a limitation of vision ,a fold of landscape,a deep flax-and-poppy-filled gully hidden on the hill, pleat in our perception a somersault of existence,natural,even beneficent even a gift,the only key to the red-lacquered door at the end of the hall,"water within water," those old stories.

Pattiann Rogers

Mots clés death

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