Painting by Carol McArtle
Solitude and Sweet Sleep in a Place Rarely Visited
I enter a place where ferns green the earth
Between cypress,
And there are blue-striped,
Fuzzy gold caterpillars
Turning into salt and oceans
Inside the curls
Of webbed fern leaf tips.
The hidden vibrations of metamorphoses haunt
The rain-bowed insect spotted air,
My life
Is holy and whole.
Tonight I will sleep on the ground,
And dream
The dreams
That the ferns
Have dreamed.
Duane Locke
Posted over on Poetry Repairs
1 comment:
God, that's beautiful. I wonder if I could ever sleep with ferns. I'm so used to satin pillow cases and cushy beds
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