Yarrow and Cane

yarrow & cane


& the yarrow falling
witness to rivers
dreaming in
a twig

nested pearl
shivering pink
skin—tender frond
of dawn—o trembling

mouth birthing
seam of light
she lingers
soft—

what
promise
in the tips
of any reach

a wand greening
dried or gold
tipped &
milky

foam of flesh
smoothed
warm
lips

touch slow
a silk film
tendril—
& yes

a place
where
folds
tell

****

say fear starves a dog—
hips splayed—teeth
black with an age
bled in snarls—

burnt snow stars—
blistered nails—
raw skinned
bristles—

see it broken—
the thing
in its
lack

* * * *

or how John Cale
says fear is a
man’s best
friend

wring its
sinewy
truth
meat

or
how
shadows
jump with you

call it what you will
still the coldness
hacks in a blue
gnawed cut

* * * *

o Appalachian
spring—cold
green un
f’urled—

windings scar—
& wounding
heals in
turn—

a whelp runs
skittish at dawn—
flushed out to follow
what canes cannot bend—


Richard Lance Williams

Posted over on More Poetry