Monthly Archives: November 2006

Ali and the Rose

Many days Ali had spent in the heart of the rose
listening to its breath
and drinking its nectar

He bathed in the sweet scent more intoxicating than
the call of his sweetheart
and more purifying than dew

When a bee spent but a moment in the rose and fell to the
ground, he took the bee in his hand and blew
softly until it revived

Ali gazed upon the rose until the sun again traveled the sky
and the moon kissed them both
in the evening air

Quietly the rose opened even more, and each petal, though
perfect in every way, went unannounced
to passersby

Still Ali sat as motionless as stone, dreamy and content
all the while conversing with the rose
and its endless unfurling

At last it revealed its solitary depths, its yellow whorls
of stamen and pistol, and the golden
dust of its beginning

In the morning, a bird perched on his shoulder and offered him
a bit of grain, but Ali shook his head gently
and placed his finger over his mouth

“Little friend, there is more than enough here,
even for the likes of me.”

.
PBSweeney
September 4, 2006

The Hammer, the Song and the Twilight

I came across your fossilized remains in a broad cleft

and truth is, you didn’t look so different from the

other mastodons of the period; furry, slack eyed, half

burried in the tar pit. You made a lot of noise,

mostly words I could not make out, about the same

things I suppose.

I said mm-hmm a lot and rummaged in the fridge for wine,

all the time looking up Kent Street away

from the water and the city, west to the gathering clouds

and reeling if truth be told again, at the sameness of

this conversation, how preserved you are in time

how listening to you is like looking over my shoulder

how relieved I am to be divided by epochs.