Forest Hymns Poem by Barry Blander

In the hush that something grows
When the moon strains an anxious ear
To hear the rustle of wind
And the whisper of thistle
The forming flesh will gather together
In wet darkness, during the deep hush
When all is still, except
For the falcon's darting eye
And the river's low throb, murmur
And rush; the child's uncomprehending
Blood will wrestle life from the vein,
Leap and grow strong, slamming the rhythm
Of its' ancient song against
The womb's winding wall.

As the earth works,
Roots wringing fruit from the rain
The forest will perfect its' mute speech
Weaving a common language for all
Its' creatures to share, shape and shield
Their sorrow's essense; the essense
The hunter can close in on
But neve reach, for he follows
But cannot feel the hush
In which something grows;
He pursues the river but never
Knows the way or why the river flows;
He smells the acrid scent of wormwood
But will never let its bittersweet story
Penetrate his scavenger's nose

Come, my little companion
Let us build a retreat
The walls; ash of innocence
The floor, timber of tamarind
The roof, a wash of rain
Yes, let us build a retreat
My fire is fugitive
But do not worry, the stars
Will cloak our desire
We are hostage to the night
But do not be afraid
The forest will enfold us
Within its warmest sheet
And owls will worship our sanctity

The hunter has stuck
His dagger into my side
There is no remedy
For an animal's melancholy
No cure for the wildcat's
Surly pride; rub your muzzle
Against my wound, lick
The poison's pus,
Oh bring my body to the tide...