Black Rainbow 27
Page created 5/17/09




When I hold you
the strands of fire your body
is made from come apart
in my hands. You don't burn,
you irradiate with springtime
roots in black wind.

The ground shifts and my
mind falls into black furrows.
Plum trees begin to grow
in strange rows. Some of
them are in the fifteenth
century.

I can see a peasant woman
picking perfect blue off the
branches. I see that it is you.
Other trees are in the future
world after we have found
the words for life.

The words for death are
always with us but under
the rain something true
always loves. I hold your
branches and pick ripe
dawns, the blood of them
shines pink in you gleams.

January 20, 2010

Copyright © 2010 by Russell Salamon, All Rights Reserved
Used with permission.

As a note, Russell Salamon is an accomplished published poet!
It is a real delight to be able to post one of his poems!
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