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Michael Spring
Poems
Michael Spring won the 2004 Robert Graves Award (Imago Poetry/UK). His
poems have appeared in Atlanta Review, Iota (UK), Midwest Quarterly, NEO (Azores,
Portugal), Poems Niederngasse (SW), and others. Michael is the author of blue
crow (Lit Pot Press, 2003). Mudsong (Pygmy Forest Press) will be released in early
July 2005. He lives in rural Oregon, USA.
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coyotl
Danene and I floated from sleep
after the cry of a coyote
splintered the evening's blue
and with its voice
roaming in and around our minds
we realized
we had dreamt the same dream:
a new wilderness spun around us
and abstract versions of ourselves
rose from the roots
of an upturned blue oak--
twigs and branches tangled
and speared into each other
Danene leaned the warmth
of her body against mine
and whispered, "this is the next level
of intimacy...
and now you must give me your heart"
I didn't hesitate and eagerly began
to claw into my chest
but then she grabbed my arms
and said, " no, not like that..."
one hand slid behind my head
and the other under my thighs
I felt the warmth of her tongue
slow on my wounds
the sound of the coyote
grew stronger inside of us
"like this" she said, "...and we'll take turns"
note: "coyotl" is the Aztec word meaning
"trickster" and is where the word "coyote" came from.
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house of mirrors
I know I didn't have to
break the mirrors
but it pleased me
to see
so many sides
of myself
I particularly liked
the ones
who threw punches
with their left hands
instead of their right hands
but I liked most
those that made eye contact
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stacked cordwood wall
I pull the draw blade
against the seasoned fir
shaving the bark
one sheet at a time
exposing the muscular
red smell of woodflesh
my thoughts are lost
travelling the arterial script
of wormed wanderings
Danene is beside me naked
in the heat of the day
shovelling the rocky soil
there's a rhythm -
a music she's tapped into -
the gravelled and hushed sounds-
as she works
the shovel into the earth
a pendulous rounded light
swims on her breasts
then flows down
over her ribs and hips
into the flexing muscles
of her thighs and calves
her body begins the forest -
colours of manzanita and bracken
ferns light the edges of her skin
and her own flesh tones
are exaggerated in the curvilinear
amber and carnelian-hued branches
of the madrona
I sometimes wonder
if we'll ever get this wall built
but then again I forget
how far we've come
there's a mound of clay soil
and a stack of straw bales
we'll use to mix with water for mortar
already Danene has replaced
the shovel with a knife
and cuts the cord
around the first straw bale
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