Overheard at Booth 4: An MR poem

Vastly Unknown

 

I would not call you the flower of the mountains

or the desert rose, or the child of the grassland valley
that rolls like a carpet of the sun between volcanoes.

I would call you the dandelion seed that drifts along

currents, or the seagull that dips occasionally to the ocean,
or the particle of light that crosses seven minutes of
emptiness to find my eye, and my eye alone,

I would call you the vastly unknown.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Verble: Reads to me like you're channeling your inner Pablo Neruda.

 

MR: Thanks.   Myself I wuz thinkin more like I wuz channelin Gram Parsons via Chris Hillman of the Byrds-era.

 

Verble: Now that you mention it . . .