My snow dirtied mind,
squandered with rain and dirt,
is ready.
These ancient trails call my name
and I am ready.
To be alone in a temple of deep space,
my cardinal ears are ready.
Where there is no religion but God
and sun and land and the scent of boiled arrowroot,
gathering on my neck and chest,
I am ready.
I am ready.
George Cassidy Payne is a poet from Rochester, NY. His work has been included in such publications as the Hazmat Review, Moria Poetry Journal, Chronogram Journal, Ampersand Literary Review, The Angle at St. John Fisher College, and 3:16 Journal. George’s blogs, essays and letters have appeared in USA Today, The Wall Street Journal, The Atlantic, Havana Times, South China Morning Post, The Buffalo News, and more.
See all his poems on Tea House here.
