The world outside the words

There are so many things I want to do,
to fall into the southern sun, the blue
that smells of pines and sings
with voices not my own,

to sit among stones old as trees,
bell towers against the sky, wild thyme full of bees.

So many things that like the swallows flown
I’ll never see, instead I spin this web
and sit entrapped in words, the substitute for be.

The lake shore recedes, and waters that once lapped
now flow into the endless blue and singing sea.

Am I the dark cow that cannot find the barn
in the deepening night? The fox barks on the hill
a hundred years away, he calls me still.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

17 thoughts on “The world outside the words”

  1. So many things to think about here:
    The age of stones?
    The age of trees?
    The smell of blue?
    The barking fox?
    I will probably be unable to sleep tonight as my mind spins, and spins some more.

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