uncle walt {song of myself}

the smoke of my own breath,
echoes, ripples, and buzzed whispers...
my respiration and inspiration...the beating of my heart
....the passing of blood and air through my lungs,

The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore
and darkcolored sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn...
A few light kisses...a few embraces...a reaching
around of arms,
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple
boughs wag...

The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the
fields and hillsides,
The feeling of health...the full-noon trill...the song
of me rising from bed and meeting the sun...

have you reckoned a thousand acres much? Have you
reckoned the earth much?
Have you practiced so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the
origin of all poems,
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun...
there are millions of suns left,
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand...
nor look through the eyes of the dead...nor feed
on the spectres in books,
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things
from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from yourself.

-walt whitman

{photos by me. lake tahoe. october 2009}