Poem: I Can’t Praise the Outdoors (2000)

27Jul14

I can’t praise the outdoors
I love it too much
Like praising my skin — it’s just there
Couldn’t do without it.
Pregnant prestorm pause,
Warm summer wind in the maples
Aching brown smell of fresh dirt
They’re like my breath.
God always in the stars,
Devils tiptoeing in the midnight woods
My mind, my spirit — the unseen force
Near eternity in the ancient grass.

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