TRAIL GOING
here we are at the doorway to the heart, take my hand, what tempos we will discover, what companionships, the sun in your eyes is my sun too, the real is in the real, the mystery underlying, this trail which is your trail is my trail too, it is my nightfall and silences,
this improbable disorientation of logical appearances, this momentary confusion, nothing can separate us now, take my hand or go it alone, i am with you, my heart races with yours, the sweet bronzing of your skin is my skin too, my eyes blink away the same cobwebs and tears as yours,
every whiplash of every branch or twig, the warble of every invisible creature that makes my body bristle, the wind which passes through your hair like raw underbrush is my wind too, the humors and corridors, the scent in your nostrils of moss, mold and decay, new growth emerging out of old,
and i am with you sure footed as a rabbit on a ridgetop, and slow with you when going slow is called for, and i am riding with you on the bootheels and tiniest avalanches of your going,
pebble, twig, pebble, twig, bone
and i am with you when you catch your breath, when you linger before a dreamscape that never knew your eyes, when you listen for the wooded throat of a bird, birds in song that never knew the listening,
here we are at the doorway to the heart, take my hand, what tempos we will discover, what companionships, the sun in your eyes is my sun too, the real is in the real, the mystery underlying, this trail which is your trail is my trail too, it is my nightfall and silences,
this improbable disorientation of logical appearances, this momentary confusion, nothing can separate us now, take my hand or go it alone, i am with you, my heart races with yours, the sweet bronzing of your skin is my skin too, my eyes blink away the same cobwebs and tears as yours,
every whiplash of every branch or twig, the warble of every invisible creature that makes my body bristle, the wind which passes through your hair like raw underbrush is my wind too, the humors and corridors, the scent in your nostrils of moss, mold and decay, new growth emerging out of old,
and i am with you sure footed as a rabbit on a ridgetop, and slow with you when going slow is called for, and i am riding with you on the bootheels and tiniest avalanches of your going,
pebble, twig, pebble, twig, bone
and i am with you when you catch your breath, when you linger before a dreamscape that never knew your eyes, when you listen for the wooded throat of a bird, birds in song that never knew the listening,
every discovery the first discovery, every trail the doorway to
the heart,
it's not infinite, but it is infinite enough, and you and I will
go and go together, and never exhaust the possibilities
— George Wallace
George Wallace is editor of Poetrybay, co-editor
of Great Weather for Media, and author of 29 chapbooks of poetry. He was first
poet laureate of Suffolk County, LI NY and was named National Beat Poetry
Festival laureate for 2915016. Since 2011 he has been writer in residence at
the Walt Whitman Birthplace. George is a regular on the poetry
performance scene in New York City and travels internationally to perform, lead
workshops and lecture on literary subjects.
Nice. Looking forward to finally meeting George.
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