Oh Everywhere, Beneath the Trees

Oh Everywhere, Beneath the Trees

Oh everywhere…between your boughs.

Pity the rising dead who fear the dark.

                        from “Morning Hymn to a Dark Girl”

                                    James Wright

He’s praising her.  That poet.  Don’t you want to be?  Praised?

Isn’t there something of Wright

            in us all—that the holy can take

the pressure

            of a tongue, the hot wind of a lung,

            the pool of more

            than a toe or a whole foot.  More.

            Two legs, a palm on one, a mouth

           

            How far can you go, alone here—

            are you alone?

            aren’t you only…it’s my hand

            glowing coal,

a silk fold over a silk fold.

            I am the whole garment.  Watch me.

            Let me

           drift down easy