Something . . .
The bright sky spanning
muted earth--all rusts and tans?
The ice-veiled pond,
each wrinkle hushed
in opaque contemplation?
The soft red cows,
so utterly animal? Perhaps even
the patter of our people talk--
the short sentence, spider-silk-fine
ties that bind together?
Something
whispers a cataclysm
of immanence and transcendence,
sky descending--a single
great blue wing--to blow
away like dust
or gather in, gather in
and tuck, tender, to
one immense and thundering heart.
The bright sky spanning
muted earth--all rusts and tans?
The ice-veiled pond,
each wrinkle hushed
in opaque contemplation?
The soft red cows,
so utterly animal? Perhaps even
the patter of our people talk--
the short sentence, spider-silk-fine
ties that bind together?
Something
whispers a cataclysm
of immanence and transcendence,
sky descending--a single
great blue wing--to blow
away like dust
or gather in, gather in
and tuck, tender, to
one immense and thundering heart.
Lovely, muted, and yet powerful. The sound fits the sense perfectly. Happy Advent!
ReplyDeleteI echo Dr Impson's praise of this quietly potent, keenly observed poem. And yes, happy Advent!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Dr. Impson and Thomas! And happy Advent to you both!
ReplyDelete