29 June 2011

A cold wind flows over the cornfields;
Fleets of blackbirds ride that ocean.
I want to be in that wild, be
Outdoors, live anywhere in the wind.

I settle down, with my back against
A shed wall where no one can find me.
I stare out at the box elder leaves
Moving in this mysterious water.

What is it that I want? Not money,
Not a large desk, a house with ten rooms.
This is what I want to do: To sit here,
Take no part, be called away by wind.

// "The Call Away" by Robert Bly from Eating the Honey of Words: New and Selected Poems HarperCollins, New York (1999), p. 24 (Web) Silence in the Snowy Fields (1958-1978) from this website. robert bly is + will always be one of my favourites