FUGITIVE DUST

By C.W. Emerson

 

Warning: dry gulch ahead

The soil is loose and will not hold

The weight of our engines

The heft, the warp and weft of us

Unravels.

 

I, too, come apart, shattered

By love in this time of warming

As ice to water rises, perilous

And luminous on ancient horizons.

 

Kilimanjaro weeps away its watershed

Ash rises over near and distant lands

And I disperse like dust,

Without source or destination

Blowing nowhere in the thick dry fog.

 

Until your beacon eyes

Blink in the far-off distance

And I begin to think we may survive

This crystal night, this sightless dawn.

 

As we, the desiccated masses,

Merge with molecules of rain

We fall into wetlands that have waited for rebirth.

We sing in the starlight

And wonder at the possible.

 

We wring the water from each other’s tangled hair

And stare into Gaia’s blue-green eye,

While life and hope take root in the muck below

We raise our heads, entangle our hearts

And walk headlong into the Mother’s new day.

_________________

C.W. Emerson is a licensed clinical psychologist in California and has been actively writing poetry for the last twenty years.  His personal and clinical interests are subsumed into his work, and include notions of time, space, and embodiment, as well as the existential concerns of love, death, will, meaning, and freedom.  CW studies with Laurel Ann Bogen in Los Angeles.


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