Bob Finkbine – Bury My Heart
Fluid thief Colorado
ferrying silt, carving rock,
spawning catclaw and catfish.
Shadowed symmetry
of subtle
lines latticed
on upcurved canyon walls;
sheerwall rising above
narrow plateaus
where ocotillos wave
twisted arms
and seep springs feed spraygrass.
Swallowtail butterflies flit
along porous lava, cracked crosscuts
slicing down to where light splays
on water, spangling above depths
where unslackened, the current
never rests.
Digging,
my fingers scratch away pebbles,
scoop out handfuls of sand and dirt
fashioning a place
for my heart,
covering it over,
letting soil work.
Nursed in cretaceous darkness,
roots tentacle out to pierce
close-moleculed masks of stone.
Man earth, earth man,
skin dissolved, flesh gone,
bones sinking into a lost sea,
into sacred ribbons of water
chattering off the backs of mountains,
licking the wounds of the earth,
folding and unfolding her seasons
like pages of a book
we
have
forgotten
how
to
read.
Bob Finkbine
September 1994 Earth First!
Date: March 29, 2016
Categories: Bob Finkbine