Years And Seasons Apart
tamed by the tumbling years,
an old voice retelling.
- John Haines, "Rain Country"
"This craggy hill is a hard place in winter."
So I began a poem once, and it was true
But I was never content to begin or end with
The merely obvious. "Rocks sharpened wind
Like a whetstone" set it teetering, and then
Something said about "sepulchral silence,
Like being alone in an old stone church"
And suddenly the whole thing collapsed.
How different now in spring when moonlight
Is sifting slowly through the trees, rounding
All the edges into a luminous coalescence,
The air warm and clear, a deepening quiet.
Not a stone church but a mountain temple;
And now the chanted meditations of crickets,
The inscrutable Buddha-owl, soft and serene.
Poetry by countryfog
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Written on 2015-05-08 at 23:01
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