Saturday, October 9, 2010

The apple tree's lament

Your flame enfolds me with
its acid tongue, its cinnabar breath
a foreign curse hissing
far too late of the recklessness
of heartwood love, of rooted longing
for so fickle a fire-mage
as my one, my own beloved
stone man, my green man,
my dear beloved woodsman.

Rachel Westfall
October 9, 2010

5 comments:

christopher said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
christopher said...

This is terrific. I posted once but had to change two words. "Drying tangled" was "burning forest" on the first go round. I did not yet know it was I that burned it down. The title always comes last for me.


The Fire Mage
(The flame, the dirt, the wind, the rain)

I can no longer
hold to how right it is, not
in the face of you.
I took my axe, cut
you right out of the dusty
woodland of summer's
drying tangled maw.
Passion would have turned to smoke.
I chopped you free as
I burned it all down
to renew the dead who called
to me in spirit.

RachelW said...

Oh, wow. I love this. Summer's drying tangled maw. It's just perfect.

christopher said...

*blush*

Your comments mean much to me. You are such a natural born poet.

RachelW said...

I'm not sure what it is Christopher, but some kind of alchemy is happening here. It's sort of like comparing masturbation to making love. Hehe, I'll do my best to respond appropriately.