"At my age . . . what is there left to
confront but the great simplicities?"
- Stanley Kunitz
January Despond
It seems a simple thing to say
One's longing now for simplicity,
And would take one's life there
If only it would reveal itself.
For the longest time I thought
It was in the light on the water,
Or that other light in the leaves,
But there are no leaves left now
Above this tin-gray sky, dull as
The roof of an abandoned barn;
And the unmoving water is dark,
Only a shallow shadow of itself.
Or I've heard the high hawk's cry
Ringing clear as a bell's one note
Calling to me of "here" and "there,"
Rising beyond where I can follow.
I have grown old and come so far
But neither yet far enough to see
There is no shadow without light,
Or hear the echoes of the hawk.
Poetry by countryfog
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Written on 2012-01-18 at 17:14
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