Hungry

“I want to see the thirst inside the syllables

I want to touch the fire in the sound:

I want to feel the darkness of the cry. I want

words as rough

as virgin rocks.” - Verb.”

                               Pablo Neruda

_____________________________________

In the cool autumn morning

the day half formed

a paler sun struggling to crest

the horizon

if flaming summer brilliance cooled

to a softer hue

I walk

the road rough beneath my feat

dusty and unfriendly

in this discreet moment

thoughts rage and feeling roar

and I notice

that in that inner fire there is life

and hope

how seducing it is,

the idea of simply sliding into apathy

and yet

if all minds quieted

if all voices were stilled

if the rough edges of life were to ease

we would slide slowly and gently

into evil and into death

here is to the thirst, the fire, the darkness

here is to living on the rough edges

here is to risking, loving, speaking

life