Your freedom of the Odometer covers a lot of ground.
To see the world in a grain of sand.
For what it really is. Outpacing yourself in that
tumbleweed camper. Fading into another sunset.
Tracking the distances in your brain.
Living Outside.
Your second skin. The weathers.
Reading the weathers. Nuance. Nuage. New Age.
How it drenches a landscape. Renewal.
The sun makes another snowman drunk.
Throws an insect into your words.
Like a dog barking into evening
car chasing spectral shadows.
The ills. What ails you, bends you.
It all becomes willow in the weathers.
When the comfort of your heart-shaped
furniture breaks down and
emotions go thread bare
You seek the weathers.
Make a hop pillow for your head.
Lay down in the cocoon arms of Your Master
Smoothing out the rituals there.
Remembering angles of light
the quality of a waterfall.
How everything goes suddenly gray.
And you still perpetually wrapped, trapped
in a west coast shroud rain
and looking for the illusive shining tree
where it’s all written down. The weathers.
About the author::
Denis Richard Robillard
This writer was born in Northern Ontario in 1966 and currently lives in Windsor, Canada. Robillard has worked as a high school English teacher, probation officer, historical interpreter, and print journalist. He has lived in Northern Ontario, Winnipeg, Ottawa and Guelph. Between 1993 and 1999 Robillard attended various writing workshops across the country. with several literary notables. Since 2000 his work has appeared in Rampike, Rattle Magazine, Kaleidoscope Journal, The Butcher’s Block Press, Dufus Magazine, Regina Weese, Lit Kicks, and Rudolph’s Diner, Open Wide, Dogzplot, and Orange Room Review and a few dozen more.
* This poem first appeared in Bolts of Silk.
Thanks for this!