Poem
Below the Glen
from notes written in the Gifford Pinchot National Forest
Let the silence get inside you. She needs
a place to nestle, with her tealing purr
you feel, but cannot hear, which umbers
louder as it sugars up your ribs.
And is that not the rumble of your need?
To drop the dulling fizz, the burdening
elocutable drone, which harries,
hammers with what you know might kill you
but to which you long ago resigned yourself.
No, let the silence get inside you. She is kind
and shaggy. She summons strange friends.
Her hands will teach the new and better languages.
Cover image by Paul J. Pastor.
