The Sunday Poet: Marc Zegans

Mark Zegans

Marc Zegans is a poet and creative development advisor.  His previous collections of poems include, The Underwater Typewriter,  and Pillow Talk. Taconic  is from Marc Zegans’s newest collection, Boys in the Woods, a limited handmade edition from Crane Maiden Books.  It can be purchased at :  http://www.pegsimone.com/storep3/Boys_In_The_Woods_by_Marc_Zegans.html


 

 

WALK

he’d never been in forest thicker than stars

when we turned off the grey, moonlit clay road

into the cool black of trembling leaves

a congress of tiny whisperers, voices

fluttering down from the canopy

foreshadowing the physical descent

in the days following frost.

“it’s so loud,” he said, reaching for my hand.

“it’s so loud…and dark, and quiet and loud

and I can feel the rocks through my sneakers.

I can’t see anything, but I can feel.”

“what can you feel?”

“the rocks and the air.”

“what does the air feel like?”

“cool on my arm.

on my face it feels like a soft blanket.

and under my feet I can feel the rocks.

some of them are very gig, an other

will make me trip if I run over them.

I think we need to walk very slowly.”

“I think you are right.”

“and we need to feel.”

“what do we need to feel?”

“the space around

our hands and our fingers and our bodies.

so that we don’t go crashing into trees

or go falling down a cliff in the dark.

it is very very dark you know, dad.”

“how dark?”

I have not seen this much dark

I cannot see you. I cannot see my hand.

I do not think I can see the forest.

maybe we are part of the forest?

is the noise in this place the sound of god?

do you think god lives here in the forest?

I think maybe we are hearing him breathe.

let’s walk slowly and be very quiet…

just so you will know, I am not scared.

I think not seeing is not a problem.

I like not seeing as we start to walk.

I can smell the lake. it’s right down below.

I can smell great big rocks. we’re near a cliff.

if we move up the hill we will not fall.

look right there, you can see very dark trees.

dad, do you think we are finding a clearing?

I think we might be. let’s see if we are?

look! we can see stars now in the forest.”

he stood giant-eyed, counting countless stars

his blond hair washed white in the moonlight

slowly turning circles, until he yawned

placing his hand once again in mine

as we entered forest thicker than stars

walking now with the knowing of place

that arrives only once in a boy’s life.