The old mountain
The wind once whispered,
Some old secret at my toes,
As I danced beyond a human peep,
Inside the dew drop of a rose,
Climbing like that softly,
With a head that wanted home,
And a heart that spoke in rhythm,
Of a time when earth was bone,
The melon sun quenched me
Rising fleshless through the breeze,
As a hundred trumpets bent the limbs
Of a billion frightened trees,
Behold,
I've past here to frequent the natural book,
Where blood is written on the skin,
And no solemn eye can look.
I'm home father,
Come and see,
I'll show you once my only face,
And I'll leave the old mountain crumble,
Past time,
Past voice,
Past space.
Copyright ©
D. Anthony Regan
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