But It Is Enough

It was your voice
That pervaded
The late-summer morning.
So I planted my feet
In the earth,
To listen.

Wheeling hawk
And warning jay —
The sumac stand,
Poised to erupt in flame —
A cricket-cicada chorus —
The silhouette trees
In early sunslant —
And those swallowtails,
At last,
At work
Among the thistles —
Their wings ragged,
The winding-down of days.

The whys and the wherefores
And the answers
From the thought-circuit:
To nourish,
To create,
And to rest at last
Like worn stones
In blackened earth.

But why tell

To be here.

To consume,
To be consumed.

The storm-beaten swallowtail,
The finch in the woody edge —
Calling through the cattails,
The cool, beckoning breath —
No need to even whistle anymore.

It is simple.
It is so, so simple,
(Or so he said).
In spite of all our words —
All our weeping —
We are for
What we are for —
That is all,
And nothing more.


About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

One response to “But It Is Enough”

  1. Tinkerbell says :

    “We are for what we are for–that is all, and nothing more.”
    Love this line!

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