Past these fields of yellows and greens
hearty, humid perfume percolates
Streams, like time, intermittently appear
to show destinations to and fro
Movements in time, familiar yet hazy
change through a celestial lens
A longing as far as the lifeblood flows
remains slightly out of my heart’s grasp
Existence moves my leaden feet
to a place of separation anxiety
Specters of history dance in the distance
often calling my name
Eager to capture its true meaning
I wonder if I’m the hunter or the haunted
© 2013 by Corvidae in the Fields, all rights reserved
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I know this is fairly rough on the eyes and without much in the way of rules, but the importance isn’t for the public. It does give a decent window into what I hear in my head at times though. The meaning is very personal to me, and encapsulated my thoughts last night at dinner. Mind you, this was at a Wendy’s next to a young redneck with a torn muscle shirt and a trucker’s hat.
Sunday was full of driving and reading, as Saturday was full of heavy lifting and grunt work. The labor was fruitful in a sense, as I’m now in possession of two family heirlooms. Both of them need maintenance, but I know it’s nothing out of my capacity. A winged table will need to be reassembled and refinished while a grandmother clock needs a call to an horologist (I like the French term better, pendulier). I believe the clockworks are in need of some fine tuning.
Corvidae in the Fields 