A Dialect of Longing – Poetry Tuesday

jason-briscoe-105340

photo by Jason Briscoe via Unsplash

And what is wind

but a dialect of longing?–: the high

pressure rushing to fill the low, the sky

 

trying to slake its heats against the earth’s

asymptotic cool, its somersaulting cools

against the earth’s radiance.  All weather

 

springs from currents of failed desire.  No wonder

the wind, when it says anything at all,

howls.

513bNNOVAjL._SX342_BO1,204,203,200_                                    *

O fugitive God, my glorious jilt,

 

my heart has learned a tempest’s grammar

in your pursuit.  Listen: it thunders up

its truest, its most hopeless, prayers

 

for you.

–Kimberly Johnson, “[              ].” in a metaphorical god

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s