A Cry of Nature
After Edvard Munch, Der Schrei der Natur
I am not you. My orange sun
ascends against blue
beneath the gold underside of clouds.
In this air I walk with two friends.
In this air we feel energy,
no shred of exhaustion.
The wood grain of the fence
upholds us, the glory of clouds,
the orange suffusing light
from the sun, the whole scene.
My companions walk ahead
as I pause to take in the gold,
to inhale even more
of the salt air along the marsh
beside the little inlet.
My hands are not your hands.
I raise them trumpet-like to my ears
to funnel in the delicious sounds.
In this place, which is my place,
nature makes its own statement.
In this air there is no scream.
© Copyright 2016 Martin Dickinson
Martin Dickinson lives in Glover Park, Washington, D.C. His chapbook, My Concept of Time, focuses on family, work, nature and time, and explores the illusion of solidity in our changing world, alongside the evanescence of time and the tenuousness of our lives. Martin was poet of the month last May for the on-line journal Blue Heron Review. His poems appear in numerous on-line and print journals and (in Russian translation) the Russian language weekly, Kontinent.