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THE SCENT

-The golden sun,
is the same distance
in the palm of your hands-
an invisible triangle...
to watch the same moment
passing.

I lure the inspiration
of the wet grasses,
fields and the trees,
that words may be given-
the gift restored within me.

I can watch the fawn,
darting out of shadow,
and winds sway the oak,
in bowing.

Gathering all senses,
alive and well inside of me...
hurting me,
stail,
as though untouched
by human hands...

left alone in the grassy sands...
to bare these alone...
sing the sounds of home...
and just think,
to remember when...
a moment, more tenter still...
while silence, touches bone.
-David Culver


------
David T. Culver


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