small songs I sing
to join
my voice to other voices
hidden in the grass

Friday, March 16, 2012

Field Guide

Here among the blue hills—
creased, battered, worn,
ground down to earth
and melding into sky,
raked and scrubbed by sun
and the swiftly scudding
shadows of bright clouds—
here among blue hills
I need a field guide to the light:

Ridge Light:  pale blue
tessellations caressing
the sinuous mountain’s spine.
Smoke Light: falls straight down
among the silent shafts of trees;
lights each dust mote rising.
Rain Light: shatters into droplets;
reflects the many colors of the soul.

Print it small on leaves
as thin as gamma rays
yet still its pages, numberless
as stars, would never fit my pocket
as I walk out among the waves
and particles of paradox,
the shards and shimmerings
that so accost the eye—

Brook Light: burnishes alike
the pool, the eddy, the fool’s gold,
and the seaward-running flow.

Light, Species Unknown: 
Emitted by dark mica
and the white moth’s wing at dusk. 
Penetrates the shut lid,
illumining the dream.

Written River Winter 2011

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