I know the storm is coming
when the hills are bathed in a yellow light
and I carry a perfume of each memory,
their heat and heavy eyes,
like walking barefoot in snow—
when I was all countries and all people
and the smell of my soul
matched the smell of all souls,
and the bare trees spread
like coral stretch marks against a fallow sky,
and I knew all women
carry everything they own
in the dark bags
under their eyes.
Listen to this poem:
Photo Mammoth Ca by Pacheco used under Creative Commons License (BY-ND-2.0)
