Stumped Pine

Your sobbing shoulders called me from the North
as now the Spring, green buds come forth.
I am not yours, but will blanket wrap your tears
to rest on this, our familiar shoulder
where black-white-red, and one year older
I traveled my shoulder of the red rolling land.
8 hours South through roadcut wood,
green curves shaved bald of natural span
while eyes flicker-fixed on the distant line
of something ancient.... patchworked, stitched,
charcoal stumped Pine and Eucalyptus,
wheels turning cogs of my trust in us,
I followed the lines all bought and spent,
South for our winter of discontent.
There, before the Spring, the cold could devour
the creeping waves of my raging fire
with frozen ghosts, mingling warmth with ice,
grief supped whiskey-thin whiskey days and nights
where black, white, and so very grey
these skies my perfect hiding place
for white-lies and broke-back trusts to swim
with exact same story that had already been
played out prophecy in another Life's dream.
On the open road, how much I wanted home,
when the death of being ready
was the birth of being alone.

14oct08
Curitiba