THE VILLAGE & THE ROAD (2)
In the village, they think of those
who have taken to the road
On the road
they think of the next village
❇
There are those on the road who never think
of the village
There are those in the village
who have made their lives an open road
❇
When the road turns to water,
you must grow fins
❇
There are countless dead villages
but no dead roads
(Discuss)
❇
You don't gather flowers
on the open road
for the open road
❇
You gather stories on the open road
for such times
as you have need of a bouquet
or to tell to yourself when darkness falls
and the faces
of all the flowers turn black
❇
Each night, its kindness
made the village glow
Wolves patrolled its roads,
letting no one
either in or out
❇
If I were to meet my dead father
I would choose to do so in spring
not within the confines of the village,
but casually on the open road
preferably in the early evening
THE VILLAGE & THE ROAD (3)
I live in one village
but I dream of another
I walk down the road
the sun hot on my back
the books, an unmapped
road in my satchel
❇
She knew the roads
between villages
the paths through the forest
and a few more that once
skirted the fields
She lifted her head
to the blue steppe of the sky -
to the birds, above,
busy with nesting
❇
There were three roads
out of the village -
two led into the world;
the other to the sky
Now each of these roads
has been taken,
the village spins
uselessly in the wind
✻
Sunlight through leaves,
stippling bands
across a road
just before it curves
It's possible to love
when love
is a fixed point,
going nowhere
✻
Between the village and the road -
a moon of golden broth
shining in the darkness,
a pinch of earth for remembrance
