Thursday, September 19, 2013

Putting the Sun to Shame

And if I tire of the weak, restless striving? And if I shake myself,
like a dog coming out of the river, like a god coming out of the river,
spraying a fiery light that is pregnant with my own breathing musk?
Well suppose. And if the flare of my nostrils takes in the valley and its hills on either hand,
and if my breath lifts the dust, if I snort the Willamette like a line of cocaine?
And suppose what comes into my hands is everything that ever longed to surrender;
and that the ferocity of my eyes
is putting the sun to shame.


Tracy Walton said...

Thank you. I have inhaled the Willamette and I miss it desperately. Your words are perfect.

mm said...


Dale said...

Tracy! Such an honor to see you here. Thank you! And mm -- likewise. xoxo

Zhoen said...

The sun, whose rays
Are all ablaze
With ever-living glory,
Does not deny
His majesty —
He scorns to tell a story!
He don't exclaim,
"I blush for shame,
So kindly be indulgent."
But, fierce and bold,
In fiery gold,
He glories all effulgent!

Dale said...



James Quinn said...

Oh baby.