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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=535546" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Beyond Blossoms, For James Wright</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">.<br>Old teacher, <br>consigned <br>to poems now -<br>another way <br>beyond blossoms <br>of which you <br>often spoke.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If you were here now I, too, would <br>speak of horses encountered on a <br>hill in the south of France, Monthaut, <br>its ruined church without knees, <br>sun low over foothills of the Pyrenees -</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From shadowed trees downhill<br>at least 20 of them run to me. <br>I feel them before they fiercely <br>appear, hooves tearing dirt<br>and grass in their ecstatic <br>ascent of the steep arriving <br>like excited birds, haunches <br>quivering, damp from late-summer heat.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Their soft noses push at my hands, <br>their vulnerable breasts press<br>hard against barbed wire. <br>They offer themselves to me, <br>their long necks extended, <br>massive heads dipping shyly, <br>not without some blood -</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>I think of you now as I did then, <br>remembering our bellowing lungs <br>in rich shared air, odors entwined <br>of earth, of mane, those of sweet<br>grasses and the binding brier<br>where they stamped, trembling.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not poetry here, <br>Old Master; <br>just reporting, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">how it all breaks open<br>blindly between doldrums, <br>dark hammock refusing <br>to be swayed on a bad day. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Something is here you already <br>know but if there is forgetting on<br>the other side of the fence <br>I remind you now.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My hands caress<br>echoing equine graces.<br>In their eyes I can see <br>in that way of all breezes, finally, <br>where you went.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">********************************<br> <br>Here is Wright's poem, 'A Blessing': </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota, <br>Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.<br>And the eyes of those two Indian ponies<br>Darken with kindness.<br>They have come gladly out of the willows<br>To welcome my friend and me.<br>We step over the barbed wire into the pasture<br>Where they have been grazing all day, alone.<br>They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness<br>That we have come.<br>They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.<br>There is no loneliness like theirs.<br>At home once more, they begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.<br>I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms, <br>For she has walked over to me<br>And nuzzled my left hand.<br>She is black and white, <br>Her mane falls wild on her forehead, <br>And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear<br>That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist.<br>Suddenly I realize<br>That if I stepped out of my body I would break<br>Into blossom.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Warren+Falcon">Warren Falcon</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=535546" data-title="Beyond Blossoms, For James Wright de Warren Falcon" data-description=".
Old teacher, 
consigned 
to poems now -
another way 
beyond blossoms 
of which you 
often spoke.

If you were here now I, too, would 
speak of horses encountered on a 
hill in the south of France, Monthaut, 
its ruined church without knees, 
sun..."></div>
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