Evening's Drowse

           
        I am filled with-
        shaped by
        the hills.

        They smooth my thoughts
        as each rise leads
        to another
        stretching

        as I soar
        like the sparrow
        my mind capturing image
        after image
        of what we've seen.

        Old hills...

        Black specks become goats
        a stick a shepherd on watch.

        Stones take the shape of sheep
        and sheep take the shape of stones.

        Some hills haven't a speck of green
        just crevices
        that make them look like drapery
        sculpted mounds
        modern art

        then drive down
        and discover other hills
        with dark green conifers-

        old old trees with space underneath
        their lowest oldest branches
        primeval shelter...
        
        Would I see the land the same
        if my pace were constrained to what legs can do-
        
        how far the foot can stumble.    

poem copyright ©2000 Anne Selden Annab

The Nook

        There is a nook,
        a small arced shape
        recessed in the stone wall,
        that holds a graceful urn
        from antiquity.
        
        A sparrow alights on the rim
        comes to sit in the sun,
        comes to sing
        and chatter
        and tell me,
        the shadow form,
        of other days
        when other sparrows
        came to bathe
        in a pitcher's warm wet water.
        
        Came to stir
        and sip
        and delight
        in my sleepiness
        as the sun stretches
        and the shadow becomes self.



poem copyright ©2000 Anne Selden Annab