My Language Of The Fields: (Original 01 07 2005) Poem by Lee B. Mack

My language of fields of cotton of hills of poppy
Above mines of gold by canyons of rapids and swells
Witness speaks through nature my soul’s travails
Language paints and dries on flattened canvas teased
To tense the senseless come to life to infant
Spirit colic wails, I am the shadow of music and light,
The baptized, my uninhabited temple sanctification ides
My shadows fall upon equinox and solstices that guide,
My spirit’s flight to fancies from roots of life’s resolve
To the envies of all my enemies who haunt the night
I am the vocal call of roads where neon sketches sprawl
By coded veins of highway rise with roads and trees too fall

Arms of rest where cool breath takes wing ward off
The fruits of apron baskets and hope of fornication
Later time runs to escape regret… spiral momentum
Lifts to a ruse - life quickens then slows when spirit
Encircles the hide and seek of love’s secret puffiness…
Envy her muffled inner voice like nights that drown
In the deep intelligence… in bands and minstrels
Taking the stage masked in our mimicries unaware in
The drift away from our love’s intent -I forget a line
Drawn from Gambia a sign of slumber a prison hall
Of cells with hooks hung upon a wall men hanging
Like instrument stings that dangle cross and thorn

Crown magic from whence come voices made of song
Voices out of men of suffering blue in my language
Of the field -souls switch allegiance east to west
Blues to the west reds to the east stars wear eagle
Calf and men with faces -the earliest Judas kiss for
One for all for the three of us whence come but one.