On this green hill, a starling sounds bigger than herself – a tape rewinding,
the banging, singing of a kettle: we’re sunk into the grass
waiting for the stars to fall, the forest to encroach
over our limbs, to turn our whispers into soil, our mouths and legs

entwined as roots.  Beneath our breath,
hiding under wings of telltale junipers, muttering
in tones so low it could take years to hear the growth
or miss the space. If we wait long enough,

when starlings fall for stars, we’ll hear it on this hill
tonight, your fingers grown through mine – the ripened hour
will bring us an imbalance in the air – the echo of a cry
for seeds displacing soil. Someday, we agree,

we will be trees again: this hill, this field
pregnant at the rim, is growing and contracting,
pushing our meridians together, our latitudes
into a canopy of sounds, our lifetimes far beyond the songs of birds.

– David William Gorin, 19, Wellesley, Mass. 2000 ARTS winner

About sethsownstar

Illustrator. Fabric Artist. Plushie Maker. Schwoopie Towne is my world and the Cuddle Buddies are my friends. I express myself through paper, digital paint and piles of fabric.

Posted on December 19, 2015, in nature and tagged . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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