. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . where ImagInatIon comes to play

Thursday, 20 December 2012


from "Your Last Day on Earth"
by Carla Hartsfield

The trees have always been here.
That's what they want us to think.
How do I know?
I finally heard them today.
I lay down and watched
inexplicable mouths.
Their leafy droning flipped me out.
I saw the pocket mirrors of souls
vibrating in solitary unction.
I thought, where has my mind been?
Believing wind infallible
and me, an amateur linguist.
Why listen to these noisy intruders?
To syllables quaking
like random dreams
why hide under quilts,
pretending amnesia.
The prophetic ones.
So much happens to shut up the gifted,
the raw hearts,
human and otherwise,
beating and glistening on a forest floor.
Leave us alone, that's what I tell you.
Forget eternity rushing overhead.
If the trees are lying I'm willing to believe
they didn't really mean it.
I'm trusting in delicacy
and shining.