while the dust was still settling
which at length became the earth
and stray cherubs still played
with pieces of leftover lightening
placing them here and there
as the first lakes and rivers
forcing mountains to assert themselves
one finally lifting off as the moon
rejected source of all hidden desires
polished pearl of clammy nights
calmly then did the good gods assemble
to assess the cosmic damage and survey
the dilemma they had set for themselves
now how to magic back the lonely soul
of each individual thing they had made
how repair each wrong so carefully committed
2 comments:
i'm not sure how to comment on this poem, peter, but to say the lines wind and the words shadow each other perfectly as form and void, the last line striking so hard, a poignant ringing kind of music difficult to ignore. (there are more exclamation marks that i'm feeling but how to say?? other than to repeat, stray cherubs still played/with pieces of leftover lightening...!!
your poem makes me sad for us. but i remember there's plenty to be happy for. if not separation, how any sight or feeling? the distance plays on us. could we be the music? (too often - god help us if this is the case, but in some cases surely the answer is yes. and in some cases the music is, in fact, beautiful. perhaps more beautiful for all the ugly desolation.)
Thanks so much, Erin, I'm glad it sang to you.
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