Alexander Levering Kern

 

What binds us to this world

is not the tendon extending from heel to calf
the one I’d always feared would tear
nor the fickle magnet of gravity          
nor the way we place our flags in dirt
on mountaintops in foreign lands. 
Instead it’s the gaze into the heart of things
the listening to the mystery 
of the mourning dove and snowy owl
sheltering there behind the veil
the soft of evening wrapping its arms 
around the hamlet of our lives 
the play of light upon our eyes 
weeping at the impermanence
a voice in the cabin telling the story 
of mud and tide, aspen and pine,
and the search for common things.

 

note: the title of this poem is drawn from
the title of a book by Robert Cording

 

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