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A THIRST FOR MOVING THINGS by Ruth Daigon As afternoon tilts toward evening and the underside of calm, a window invites distance where the stars arrive from their own journeys where footsteps sound under the sea. and the body tumbles through flecks of time. We watch the moon cut loose tailed by a consort of stars. We hear the forest singing in a thousand voices enticing creatures into flight and tempting us into our white gowns and dancing shoes until all that we know is motion. A toothed wind streaks across the cheek of sky trailed by air born dust echoes of earth swimming worms and roots holding hard and spreading spreading. Windy histories tear loose from the present and speed toward the future. Sound scatters the air in gusts of clover and the night's long song. And somewhere in the world when animals step into stillness thoughts rise volatile as dandelion fluff pungent with time. © Ruth Daigon « Home | Contributor Notes » |
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