free moose

I am moose.

I belong to trees.   I belong to hills.
I belong to god.   god made me moose.
      god set me free.

      but not alone.

I walk in the river.   a river made of Light.
me and Light, we are only a blink distant apart.

Light feeds on seeing me.
I am brown.   I am tall.   I have four limbs
      sprouting feet like stones.
Light follows.   gives breath a shadow leaning
      into purpose, like being alive.

as well mother, gravity.   she loves me
like trees, like dirt, like stars.   all night long.
      even in the day, even when we’re blind.

wolves and bears, others sometimes, rarely,
maybe, even you.   you eat me sometimes.
      no fault.   I love, all the same.

Light brought us here.   Light breathes like tide.
      shadow mirrors our direction home.

there is Light inside sky
there is Light inside water
there is Light inside trees, inside grass, inside rocks
there is Light inside a moose.

when there is shadow, Light is near.   no fear.

when you say Light, does Light hesitate.

I am who I am meant to be.   I am this poem.

I am moose inside Light.

      the deeper that sorrow carves into your being,
      the more joy you can contain.            Khalil Gibran

image:   © Delphine Margau,   Delphine Margau Art Photography, France
this image is part of her chapter/series, Under The Woods of Childhood.
kind permission granted for use of this © image.   with our thanks.

please visit her website to experience more work by this exceptional artist and photographer.   her work is also shown on the Edge of Humanity arts website.


                 Under The Woods of Childhood

      What is hidden in the depths of the soul will come to the surface
                                              one day or another.

      Go a little deeper, in the dark, that’s where the light is. If you
           are afraid, then go ahead. Go and join the waiting child.

           Delphine Margau


2 thoughts on “free moose

  1. I love how this poem unravels, moving through all the ways the moose is the light. It’s a winding journey and it comes together so perfectly. It reminded me of a memory, and I hope it’s okay to share it with you. When I was barely 20 my boyfriend’s father died. He knew I wanted to be a writer and so he left me his notebook. I felt strange about accepting it and even stranger when I began reading it. The words were all about light; how it created us, how it lives within us, and where we will someday return. It rambled with no punctuation, in all caps, and with the sense of time running out. His words stuck with me to this day and have always felt like truth. Your poem reminded me of that and it makes me want to try and write a poem inspired by that memory. Thank you.


    1. Gosh (that’s as high-brow as I get). Thanks Bridgette, comment and story both. There is a notion I hold to that a poem is a thread the writer starts, but what’s most dear is how the reader picks up that thread, continues into their own life. So what you suggest is perfect I think.

      Liked by 1 person

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