Moon of mindlessness, of lying fallow
in fields of frozen shocks.
Moon of fingering old poems like rosary beads,
of quiet breathing under memory quilts.
Moon of reflection in icebound ponds,
of gazing at fractals in frost.
Moon of upstart pine and primordial oak
bearing the burdens of holy snow.
How the beauty of this world
is like a secret so old and widespread
that none believe it. Something so huge
could not be hidden, everyone says,
and they go on about their business
of accumulating stores and storage space
while rumors of extraordinary wonder
run like melted silver through the streets.
Moon of small fires and story-telling.
Moon of slow-growing light,
the shadow of wings across the sky,
the womb of becoming, the birth.
Dolores Stewart
From The Nature of Things
This exquisite poem poem printed here with the poet's kind permission.
5 comments:
"Moon of small fires and story-telling"...yes, exactly. December evenings are good for that.
Exquisite indeed! "How the beauty of the world is like a secret" - yes, a mystery indeed....."running like melted silver through the streets..." and no one noticing... Thank you for *noticing* and sharing the beauty!
Wow, what a gorgeous image and stunning poem!
Thank you, Cate, as ever, for sharing.
And hey, I didn't know you were on Twitter, too. I'm butwait over there...
"How the beauty of this world
is like a secret so old and widespread
that none believe it."
"Moon of storytelling."
Talk about the moon and you have my attention.
Thank you.
what an exquisite gift; both in picture and words
thank you for letting me start (well, it started a while ago!!) my day in this beautiful fashion and thank you for sharing with us.
Kiki
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