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Poems

That Evasive Spark

Passion is present in summer on lakes
Where the sun singes swimmers’ bronzed skin.
Carefree ardor may be increased with wine:
At table with olives, cheeses, and gin.
Even when unconscious there is desire,
Haunting—unwillingly, unsought—our dreams.
With lightning and loud thunder comes fervor:
The wilderness begets wildness, it seems.
But while July lakes, repasts, sleep, and storms
May each decorate a pretender’s stage,
Only love infuses into its making
That evasive spark that quickens each age,
That makes consequent the source of a boast
And raises creation to its utmost.

Categories
Poems

The Wind

Born in a cosmic, ancient time unknown—
Neither with a beginning nor with end,
Roving the globe with no destination,
Scaled from gales to zephyrs—exists the wind.

Never truly stilled.  Wind wafts through tall grass,
Strokes a woodpecker’s pileated back,
Eddies, whirls like an Istanbul dervish,
Then rushes to autumn’s gold tamarack.

Along a purling stream it courses.
Unconquerable, the wind keeps her head,
Dashing over the solemn pine forest,
Toward the boreal Arctic’s stone swept shore.

Then out!  Out over the cold raging sea,
Of black waves, fractured pack ice, and white spume—
Out amid lightning’s ribbonlike white wires,
Where auroras blaze in electric bloom.

On capricious currents come chance and change.
Historic, progressive, shaping wild rain—
On wind ride voyagers, eagles, and hopes:
Hopes to be fulfilled, hopes that are in vain.