‘An Intimation’ by Gabriel McMahan

An Intimation


As I went down one day
into the brush of tangled green

as if i planned to stay
where i thought i should not be seen

the branches dripped with leaves
over the path

like rain
like rain.

under the eaves,
sunlight lay out a swath,

of what else but what
lay there, almost burning.

What should I call it?

Fire is in everything.
in everything, but

is too.

much is what dripped from the branches
and much soaked in

the pelts and airy feathers
of each hot animus, dwelling

and dwelling richly.
This is all that can be said.