by Greg Hall, copyright 1997, 2009

Despite the wind
There is nothing here
But my footprints
When I return)—
The summer broken
And the autumn still smoking
The winter
Wounded to death—
Roses are rising
Inside the breasts
Of the spring—
The year turns,
And the ocean
Is reversing itself,
The wind hesitates,
Not sure whether
To oppose my return
(That driving wall
Of mysterious
Breath and sand),
Or to lash me forward
Agreeing without words
That all destinations
Must be reached,
That the last seven drops of wine
Must join their sisters
In the steadily darkening
Glass of our lives—
I have no arguments
For the wind,
Because to confront
A force
Without words
Only silence
Must speak…

Note from the Editor: I first printed this in 1997 as a broadside for a reading Greg gave at the Cafe Rouge in Los Gatos, CA. The poem. like most of Greg’s work, still is as fresh and philosophically pertinent today as ever.

Categories: Uncategorized

Tags: , ,

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: