Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Make Yourself New

Cicadas learn this trick in just seventeen years,
but they have the advantage of being born dead.
Blind and buried underground, they hear
every word that rock and darkness ever said.

And there's another tongue that's spoken under earth
by plant roots that bleed sugar sap when bitten.
It's the taste of sun, leaves, spring, rebirth
of words unsaid, sealed buds, volumes unwritten.

Eyes that have never seen, wings unexposed to sky
a whole world they've talked about but could never touch...
You'd think they'd be confused, overwhelmed, unable to fly.
A little glory's fine, but surely this is too much.

Victorious and strident, they throng the boulevards.
Making the world new with their brand-new regard.

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