Soul Questions / Anxious Amble by Michael Keshigian

Soul Questions

He thought about his soul

as he walked forest trails

on a summer morning,

deciding it might be solid like his heart

rather than intangible like his mind.

Yet solid meant

it would eventually fail

and break apart

like the tender wings of a moth.

And if it were,

where might it be?

Could he be sure he had one?

Do others?

The fawn that crosses his path

then scampers in fright,

had the face of a child

confronting a stranger.

The black crow that caws concern

amid the pines

warns his brethren.

Bears retreat into caves

for sleep and survival.

Surely, they may posses

what he cannot locate.

It might have a shape

like a mountain

or resemble the beady eye of a loon.

Why wouldn’t a fox have one

or the robin who tenders her young

so carefully?

For that matter, why wouldn’t

the trees, the shrubs, or the lady slippers

with their big pink heads?

All living things bleed when they are cut.

Perhaps the soul is liquid.

 

Anxious Amble

The trees, on this late summer’s eve,
coerced him into believing
they could hear his thoughts,
sense his angst as they bent over
the path upon which he strolled
while night climb slowly
down their limbs
to absorb fading shadows
that danced the trail he trespassed
as the wind whimpered a whistle.
The ample leaves flailed
and quivered their percussive timbre,
a collective voice
that seemed to answer
his queries when breezes stoked the air,
silenced when the setting sun
stifled the airstream locomotion,
mitigating nature’s delicate response.
With everything quiet, everything dark,
the remembrance of another evening’s saunter
illuminated his mind,
an evening filled with laughter,
happy hearts,
bare-feet splashing in an ocean puddle,
a romantic caress; what heavy,
hurried steps he took to keep pace
with the bright image upon him
until it too faded into the current darkness
that consumed him,
steps that eventually guided him
to the sky at path’s end,
a clouded, misty sky,
where even the stars, night’s children,
those glimmers of hope
against infinite night,
were missing as well.

Michael Keshigian has recently been published in Tipton Poetry Journal, Studio One, Spank the Carp and Jerry Jazz Musician as well as many other national and international journals.  He is the author of 14 poetry collections and has been nominated 7 times for a Pushcart prize and 3 times for Best of the Net. Michael's latest chapbook, Poems from the Sky, will be released by Cyberwit.com this month.