23

What more could I want
Or need. I have the ravine,
Its constant green,
And the brook that parts
In silver
And golden sheen.

This land I walk,
These paths I breathe
Through my feet—
My whole body
Past sleeping wolves,
Past drowsy bears.

Here is the earth's roof.
Here is its table.
I reach my toes
To the fig—still hot—
Drops in my hand,
Explodes in my mouth.

I smell sweet
Almonds, raisins,
Warm honeyed
Milk of my youth,
The young breast,
Beating.


© Dan Goorevitch, 1998