I just put up one of my poems on my podcast and thought I would share it here because it is about how yearning is tangible. I think that that yearning sometimes makes us think it is love . . . but it isn't. Can you imagine how a piece of kindling would feel just as the fire reaches it?
Just to be clear, I am not currently personally in a state of longing. But I think that poems last beyond the time of inspiration.
Here it is -- and if you'd like to hear me reading it, you can find it at: http://solotramp.libsyn.com
TANGIBLE
my yearning for you
is a wild sea churning,
is epidote crystals
tapping sacred knowing,
is a wild horse
galloping across ranchland
under a flaming sky
I’m not in love
it is infatuation
aspiration
exhilaration
anticipation
of your igniting match
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