Geology, on the 20th anniversary of his death

He never knew
the language of water,
the tragedies of ocean,
the comfort of tides

For him the earth was rock:
obsidian the mother
of tears gone to glass,
fixed in his face and
squinting like a far-sighted sailor

For him the breasted hills
waited, nippled and nervous
for slow unbandaging
of darkly creviced gems,
Gaia sweetly shuddering to his hand

Such days he knew himself
and knew himself at home,
thralled in earthen passage,
beveled flesh he made his own

He never spoke
in the liquid language
but used a carbon sorcery
to let the lava flow
and furl and flower,

a lei of jeweled earth
yet longing for the sea


~ Kaimana Wolff

Kaimana Wolff writes novels, plays and poetry from Powell River, BC, where she is denned up with Lord Tyee, a wolf dog.

You can read more poems by Kamaina here.

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