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| Grasses in the Back Meadow, September 2013 Image © Quodlibet, 2013. All rights reserved. |
The
Call Away
by
Robert Bly
A
cold wind flows over the cornfields;
Fleets
of blackbirds ride that ocean.
I
want to be out of here, go out,
Outdoors,
anywhere in wind.
My
back against a shed wall, I settle
Down
where no one can find me.
I
stare out at the box-elder leaves
Moving
frond-like in that mysterious water.
What
is it that I want? Not money,
Not
a large desk, not a house with ten rooms.
This
is what I want to do: to sit here,
To
take no part, to be called away by wind.
I
want to go the new way, build a shack
With
one door, sit against the door frame.
After
twenty years, you will see on my face
The
same expression you see in the grass.
"The
Call Away" by Robert Bly (American, b. 1926) from Like the New Moon, I Will Live My Life. © White Pine Press, 2015
