How can I know myself by Dana Bersch

How can I know myself
When I do not know what the grass is,
Or what red rocks are,
Or why the willow weeps in my country?
My country is to me a maze —
I only know the wonder.
When I journey forth
My metaphors die as quickly as new ones are birthed
In my mind when I can not sleep.
How I wish I could sleep
As Wallace Stevens sleeps
On my couch.
I shall never be a finished book.
My pages are to always be written
As long as I walk through my country
With open eyes
And most importantly with a broad nose
Flaring my nostrils.
Ah, to have a keen sense of smell,
To inhale my country.

Back to issue seven