Life is lily-of-the-valley sweet,
and brief as purple iris pavilions,
as moon flowers and morning glories--
short and slow as woolly worms
across fall roads.
A thousand crab apple
blessings carpet my days.
Blessings blow like leaves,
chase with the patter
of a crowd of tiny feet.
Mortality is weird--
forever creatures in interlude
between dust and dust,
soft bodied images
of God.
Elena -- you're very adept at creating a world in your poetry from which one is never eager to depart! Difficult to choose my favorite part of this poem, perhaps the "purple iris pavilions" or the blessings that blow like leaves ... but ultimately, the last stanza it is that generates resonance and reflection. Weird, but a miracle! that there should be "soft-bodied images of God" roaming the earth!
ReplyDeleteOh, thank you, Thomas! I'm so glad you found this world a good place to be.
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