The air lay soffly on the green fur <br />of the almond, it was April <br /> <br />and I said, I begin again <br />but my hands burned in the damp earth <br /> <br />the light ran between my fingers <br />a black light like no other <br /> <br />this was not home, the linnet <br />settling on the oleander <br /> <br />the green pod swelling <br />the leaf slowly untwisting <br /> <br />the slashed egg fallen from the nest <br />the tongue of grass tasting <br /> <br />I was being told by a pulse slowing <br />in the eyes <br /> <br />the dove mourning in shadow <br />a nerve waking in the groin <br /> <br />the distant hills <br />turning their white heads away <br /> <br />told by the clouds assembling <br />in the trees, told by the blooming <br /> <br />of a black mouth beneath the rose <br />the worm sobbing, the dust <br /> <br />settling on my eyelid, told <br />by salt, by water, told and told.<br /><br />Philip Levine<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/told/
