Here great forms of light and darkness,
material, immaterial, feel their way
across each other’s faces, moving blind,
cloud, mountain,
flash of blue, lake’s underwing,
a shred of deep sky caught in the rolling ground.
Broad dividing sweeps draw the eye
to the foot of the crag, steep valley’s rim,
and on, to the horizon.
This theatre is for elemental arguments
whose resolution’s never permanent.
A slung path threads immensity
flung down on either side, suspended
over gulfs of sky. Clouds forever
build worlds above the one I walk in,
for the wind to dive into, and burst apart.
Marsh flowers tremble, draw me
into worlds within. I vanish,
hidden by desire, longing to separate
into my simplest elements, water,
bitter mineral, slight sediment,
to be lost in what surrounds me. So far,
custom has pulled me back each time
to the talking world.
poetryspeaksong 