The Polis Cannot Reach Me Here
This poem appears in The Love of a Good Man.
What is a dog
off-leash area?
The world after rain
is beauty turned to sun.
Each ray asks me to
gnaw on it, suckle
each drop reflecting
a universe.
The treeroots protest:
Nous n'sommes pas rhizomes.
Each sound speaks to me
of love, repeating in
crystalline tones.
Each treetrunk invites me
to an embrace,
a caressing of
bark as tough as mail,
never used for writ.
I witness the severed
sinew of trees, nary
a beaver in sight.
The water brrr-shhh-sss,
grrr-bl-grrr-bl-grr-bls;
forest floor thromp-thromps.
A denuded trunk stands tall,
Like the pride of Kijŏng-dong.
Voices come and go;
I do not see their owners.
Here, I am simply
the pursued of
the pursuer of the pursued
of the pursuer of—
On the rocks, I bluff.
On the paths, I crunch.
On the branch, I hoot.
Soon, through the wet turn of
the road's trench or trunk,
I'm returned
to the entrance:
overcome,
sun-drunk,
drenched.
'Til my breath slows.
'Til my breath calms.