Spirits never grow

There’s something in the yellow sand
Deep down beneath the ground that soothes
Cool and dark and peaceful like a nest
A cave. Your chest is cold like those depths
Appeasing. Some strange animals may come out
Like a surprise no one had ever heard about
The sea can climb with its powerful mouth and
Lick your burning flesh, absorb it and turn it into
A darted shell ready to run through my foot
I will not fall.

There’s too much pleasure to be taken
In the drinking of the warm sun rays
Too much certainty in the goodness of the earth
Too much joy in the stroking song of the leaves
For the notion of power to be part of the game.

A soft round pebble with its golden egg-like shape
And the passing of the stream
Feet and hands. Bodies breathing.
Sweet pebble watching, timeless
Plants and fish come and go
Spirits never really grow

Dara Birnbaum