Occidental Growth

were we moving through this
barrier of shadows
like swaying elements of orchard,
fruit blown in a mist of years

a scent of wet heat
crouched like a lonesome heron
near marsh roots whose burials
beckon toward instincts,
antiques, decaying relics

if western senses were to
orientalize, a wise blade
of unknowing
transitioning toward silk,
the eyes would absorb peace
in schools of deep play

where beyond nothing
but surfaces
the silence grows slowly into light

 

(c) J. Celan Smith