Some days, words want to be a poem.
Invocation
Come. Walk. And let us gather
Silence, around us for a cloak
For this moment I would rather
Keep close the quiet and invoke
Deep stillness, a repose to ease out
The thought and sight and hearing
Of vastness unencompassed, a noiseless shout
Of sheer, stark glory, we are nearing
A perfection of happiness? This picture
Spins inside, but outward calm
Remains, so that wild bird’s chirr
And first spring flower meet in my palm
Beauty seen on an infinite sheet
Realized in a brief, painful, heartbeat
1 comment:
a bird's chirr- nice sensory detail. And I like the question mark after we are nearing a perfect happiness, the way it makes the reader say that sentence is perfectly fitting for the poem.
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