Into the Current
We hid mountains under the sheets, a rising core
of flowered Appalachians. You thrust me into the shapes
of krumholtz. Fairy forests at the edge of rock, trees twisted
into storm. Cougar on granite; eager feasting at the warm flesh
of a doe. We hid the wind, the sudden first warm day of April,
snow still in the shadows of the oaks. Heat drove us
from our cave onto the rocks above the precipice. We tumbled, plummeted
into the gorge. Colliding in air, we crashed to the water.
Into the current, over the falls, into the pool. A sudden mountain
pool. Lit by trilliums and bloodroot. Coo
of a mourning dove. The first white-throated sparrow sings. Flies from
under the sheets smack into the still-closed window.
Crumples, chest fluttering, to lie stunned on the bedroom floor.
Mary Stebbins Taitt
(this poem appears in the Feb/March issue of edificeWRECKED, I'm unsure of the year --2005, I think)