poetry

truthfully

a poem by jacob berg

www.dullstyle.ca

there was time before we made it,
its arms stretched sublime like
the goldblood horizon. there was
nature (so they say),
the smell of coffee unpoured,
a dragonfly godly and
whispering dreams alive. the lips
of oneforce time blowing
sweet hell through my hand,
the precambrian clouds
falling in the night through
the treelined carapace of wanting,
glad breath on the freshrustled leaves,
the marigolds pungent and
ever yet returning.