Between a hill of shade and forceful stream, I’ll rest to watch the season turn its phrase: The shadows fondle the frothing seam To clarify some part of other days. Yet here now too—these paths of persistence Have offered time a renewed resistance. There’s no particular passage to cite. These paragraphs of threading turbulence Enjoy their syntax, black on scrawling white— And, sun-sounded, contour-staggered, things sense The water heave through its rocky grammar And push back to purify its stammer. So sun plaits its forest with bullion plats— And stakes these claims of momentary gold With infiltrating nimbuses of gnats. These clouds of being magnify, enfold The lesson of dark and light: So, flow on… I too am tired enough now to go on
A blue moon poem with some fine resigned turns of seasonal phrase.
Grand work, pater – just in time for autumn. Especially liked “sun-sounded, contour-staggered etc.” of the second stanza.
Read aloud tomorrow evening – with whiskey of course:)