A poem of praise about a thing of the earth. A poem that builds beauty out of the wildness of words that are ours.
Pale brown peanut:
Ah, true!
White veins of rivers
mold you in a shape
obscure, odd as earth
how it holds two hands together!
Your sheen is the oiled skin
of a brown man, working.
Your dust, of powdercake dirt;
light within your opaque globe
retains rain in a bloom,
waterfalls and leaves,
the corky gourd of a tree.
Truly, Who finds you
has entered the ball of the Beautiful,
Who stays here, the whole,
one seed of the world.
Published in Mirare, 1995
Take it away.
