| Kumjeong
Mountain at Daybreak
by Kenneth Parsons |
December 5, 2002 |
Clouds have been gathering in the blue mountains
since long before dawn, Gathering
like white syllables on the gray wordless page
of Time.
And now even Time itself wants to disappear
down the dark throat of a cedar thicket. Yes, like love exploited
and rebuked It wants to walk right
out. But for some unreasonable reason
It can’t. Or won’t. Opening its eyes in the cedars’
darkness,
unaware, neutral
to Time’s motion a kachi
lifts its head and listens
to world-in-its-own-waking,
earth time pulsing, hard-wired
behind bird skull, and
breathing on its wing. Time, earth, cloud give themselves up
to the cedar
thicket. Give up gushes of gold sunburst,
drops of wet silver. The
kachi’s quick eye quivers,
wings stretch,
claws release limb, Springing up
and up wingblades beat,
breaking airwaves, Throat
utters its trill – ka,
ka, ka … carrying the
mountain’s breath, carried by Time’s
unencodable silences,
breaking, breaking
into the code of the morning calm. |