On the Verge.

Alone. It’s hot.. Familiar odours steam
in tones of brown.. the trees are breathing earth;
dark humus wets their feet and mine. I lean
against an ancient Puriri, its girth
a measurement of time. It gathers me,
absorbs my consciousness, and gives me birth
into another world… of energy
that flows between the trees, that fiercely sweeps
in elemental chaos from the sea
and buffets, sneers at innocence that sleeps
upon the threshold. Help! A sly green man
is giggling in the leaves, enchantment creeps
in tangled vines. I run while yet I can,
my feet inspired by panic, lent by Pan.

Kathy Earsman

first published by Yellow Moon magazine
and in Reflections from the Moon an anthology of sonnets in 2003
from the finalist entries in the Yellow Moon competition
search for a sonnet 2002.

meet Kathy Earsman