The Year-God

Gerrye Payne

A sample poem from the book

 

The Year-God

 

The sun is strong here in February,

and warms the rack of bones I hang upon.

Swirls of ambivalent forms refuse to

commit themselves to this or that,

won’t say yes or no, remind me of

orange fungus on the rotting log

shifting from itself to bright dust

as I watched.  The Year-God is here,

requiring transformation.

Twining together like abandoned sisters,

clinging to the porch rails, wisteria branches

thicken and knot themselves into buds.

 

Copyright © by Gerrye Payne