Wednesday, April 16, 2014

What Desire (the porcupine)

What Desire

All I ask is to be left alone
with my endless hungers;
axe handles rich with the savor
of sweaty hands, old tires stored
behind the barn; green lumber
oozing pitch; crates, leather gloves,
hoses, discarded boots. Last summer
there was a salt lick in the field;
even now my quills rise in pleasure
at the memory. My mate and I embraced
the salt, licked it down to the ground
while the cows, longing for a taste,
were forced to wait their turn.
Young maples, scored and girdled--
we feast on the sap quietly, at night,
while the cold air flows around us,
the silence broken only by the sound
of our own determined chewing.
And in early spring, compelled 
by I know not what desire,
I climb a small tree
and sing for love
into the dark, cold, sky

1 comment:

  1. I spotted one the other day on the way into Newport. We were both on the Interstate. He seemed beyond desire. I, on the other hand, wanted so badly to get home, I hardly slowed down to give him a second thought.