it appears, with considered judgement, bears the light beneath the rifted clouds
the indivisible shared out in endless abundance
words excerpted from "bearing the light" by denise levertov
when colour goes home
when colour goes home into the eyes,
and lights that shine are shut again
with dancing girls and sweet birds’ cries
behind the gateways of the brain;
and that no-place which gave them birth, shall close
the rainbow and the rose
still may time hold some golden space
where i’ll unpack that scented store
of song and flower and sky and face,
and count, and touch, and turn them o’er,
musing upon them; as a mother, who
has watched her children all the rich day through
sits, quiet-handed, in the fading light,
when children sleep, ere night.
she left her voice behind
the sun
still new to the day
rose soft
and orange
over the river
a sudden flurry of movement
like the hurried flapping of a small bird's wings
caught at my shirt sleeve
causing it to pull
ever so gently
in the eddies and whorls of her passing by
a soft whispering voice
soft as the brushing of petals
the little house
there is a house that is no more a house
as for the woods’ excitement over you
that sends light rustle rushes to their leaves
charge that to upstart inexperience.
where were they all not twenty years ago?
then for the house that is no more a house
but only a belilaced cellar hole.
your destination and your destiny’s
a brook that was the water of the house
cold as a spring as yet so near its source
here are your waters and your watering place.
drink and be whole again beyond confusion.
excerpted from "directive" by robert frost
arriving at letting go
arriving at simplicity is a very complex process
(i saw in the mist a little village of a few tiled roofs and joyfully admired it.)
there's a stream, and there's bamboo,
there's mulberry and hemp.
mist-hid, clouded hamlet,
a mild, tranquil place.
just a few tilled acres.
just a few tiled roofs.
how many lives would i
have to live, to get
that simple
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