Rebirth

And all of it,

my child--

was Grace.

Was Grace, that pulled her away;

was Grace, that stripped you bare

and set you apart

in a dark and silent horror.

Was Grace, that spun her webs

of love, and mercy

to save your stumbling self

from the Death one dies alone.

 

 

 

 

September 2015

The View from Ox and Old Chain Bridge

sometimes i watch
the whole gliding mass
drifting up over the hillcrest and down,
sloped like a mist, stretched across
the contours of the Earth--

and sometimes i pick out
one two-point object from the flickering
stream: we flow together predictably,
approach this intersection where
we both take Human shape--

and swoop wide right:
around: and through: while i sit and wait
to glide, drift, flicker, flow;
journey interrupted like a meteor
falling toward the Sun--

when we die, we'll say
life was how it had to be: churned and coursed
through channels impervious, necessary.
and then we'll watch the gliding mass
settle like dew upon the Spring.




September 2015

Droplet

The sky drips onto my window

And the universe is a woman

Who must be approached

Carefully, tenderly, patiently:

Not bought like a whore but loved

Like the bride idealized in

Our heads, as young men.

(This hill gives back

My miles-per-gallon--

Something I track

Like a game; like baseball

--On the way back down,

Like a cloud giving back

A droplet to the glass.)

And this, the patient Grace of hills
Being fair, can take a millennium.
She does not confine her rule

To our meager Human lives. We die

Like raindrops in a passing storm,

And the one who bore us all

Lives on: shall still justly rule

At the end of Human things, when 
Words themselves expire.

September 2015