For Josephus, who would have seen it as I did.
Estes Park, Colorado, 1964
Ay, on the shores of darkness there is light,
And precipices show untrodden green.
John Keats, To Homer
Memory and rapture are so intertwined
that they become a single gesture.
Mark Strand
Hiking alone up a trail so old, so barely
There, I was sure the last feet that trod
It had worn moccasins, stalking a deer
Or mountain goat up to the promontory.
Clouds so close I felt and heard them
Moving, nudging me on and up and then
Down, and as I rounded a ridge, below
Was a deep meadow of columbine, yellow
So pure it stunned and shimmered like light
On water, swelling across the green ground,
Breaking against the back of the mountain,
Going and staying as running water will,
Tideflow over the scree to granite seawall,
Scrim and spume, lift and fall, of flowers
Swaying; the sea turning its treasures over
And over in its soft hands; how nothing
Is ever beyond its reach and consideration.
In that moment the world turned on itself,
The way sea and sky, light and shadow,
Become one element at horizon's edge,
The columbine no longer floating between
But ascending, coloring the valley of clouds.
The only direction left now is revelation,
Looking down and falling up into the light.
Poetry by countryfog
Read 672 times
Written on 2012-05-04 at 17:06
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
Blilith |
Lawrence Beck |
shells |
Elle |
|
jenks |
josephus |
ken d williams |