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Sign Here

February 24, 2008

Last night something left a sign.
It passed and pressed the earth, it marked the path,
It left behind this posting pointing east

Last night something descended from the hills
and rolled right through this valley, flowing under starlight
Where night-bleached grasses bent before its weight and whispered down
Where cooling muds and darkened sands spread canvases to dry

It stepped, or stooped or stopped,
Impressed the page with name or long notation,
A footnote, or an author’s felted seal.

At every crossroads, or at oddly jutting stone,
Something scattered its production, claiming title, grant and deed,
Claiming kinship, pledging troth,
Then moving on.

What do you want? A written invitation?
Last night something left its sign.

by Diana Hunt

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  1. Petra
    February 24, 2008 at 1:55 pm

    I love this poem for the way it makes the mystical quality of the “mundane” Earth so palpable. It reminds me of something Rilke, or Mary Oliver might write. Beautiful!

  2. February 25, 2008 at 9:13 am

    Yes! Reminded me of Mary Oliver, too. This is a wonderful poem. It rolls along, just like the something that left its sign.

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