In Such Hollow Stems

Someone must sit for months,
Dandelions,
Every year
In some greenhouse,
Never sleeping,
Spending the nights keeping
All the glass gleaming—
Polishing it
With ragged leaves gathered in autumn
And endless gallons of starshine
And moonlight
That pour anew
Nightly
Into precisely positioned rain barrels—
And each day drawing
Into thinner and thinner wire
The thinnest rays of the winter sun.
Where do they find time,
Then,
To screw a jeweler’s loupe
Into an eye socket
And wield their tiny pliers
To twist and tease so many strands
Into place
Atop such hollow stems,
And where do they find such bitter milk
To fill each to the brim?
I suspect they built
Beyond the greenhouse long ago
A barn
In which to keep cattle
Whose hopes
For years
They’ve daily raised and dashed
By wafting in fumes of sweetest hay
And the whiskey scent of corn silage
But feeding them
Only
Musty timothy never raked
To dry in the July heat
After the rattling swather sped
Up
And down a field
Before a sudden summer rain.
And all of this to leave you,
Dandelions,
Scattered brightly in the grass
Where so many might worship you,
Where so many will drop
To their knees
And dig
Religiously for your essence.

About John MacKenzie

I'll mumble for ya. Poetry, plus most things quantifiable: science, neuroscience, memory, epistemology, baseball. And so on.
This entry was posted in Delusional thinking, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Religion, Theology and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Mumble back at me

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s