SH (01 may 1962 / U.S.A.)

A Subtle Witness

Of late, and from early,
I learn more and more
of less and less;
how a little
means a lot, and
a lot means little.
How the sky
born of nature
mingles with eternity,
not quite here,
not quite there;
birds move through
a motionless air
like grace
at God's fingertips;
the trees, burnt orange
stand resolute,
fired in falls
glorious furnace;
leaves skate downward and around,
in and out of the veil
covering a mysterious majesty.

Where was I before
and saw
what I now,
barely again, begin
to see?
When did I leave it all?
And when
have I returned?
How? - -
Leaving the leaving, now
I see,
This, all, was always
coming to me,
and I
to It.

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Comments (1)

Really like this, as we get older I think we have a new way of looking at the world, each day begins to mean more to us, we notice things we never noticed before listen to sounds we never heard before, but we can never really remember when we started, but we know we did. A fantastic poem.