March 16: Tired, New Poem, "Whitman and the Skunk"

It has been a long five or six days, and I apologize for my absence.  Things have been busy and exhausting and out-of-control.

Not much time to write or relax.  However, I do I have a new poem.

Saint Marty wishes all of his disciples peaceful nights and dreams.

Whitman and the Skunk

by:  Martin Achatz

I see you on the shore of Superior, water
curling around your blue feet. In your arms,
pressed into the capacious swirls of your gray
beard, a skunk, cradled like a wounded
soldier. This creature, black hole body
shot with nova light, trusts you, 
knows that you contain cannon
fire and lilac, armies of geese in winter
retreat, salmon sun leaping into
dawn, yawn of dusk in oak
bough. You contain it all, shin
deep in this arctic sea, smell
of you mixing with the smell
of him. God, you're both
so beautiful and electric
in your love

and need!