Hourglass Years: A Poetry Anthology
a human thing,
at home with itself
on table or shelf
and the clasped receiver
will never deceive one.
It snowed yesterday, and the snow
resolved itself into a dew.
Today the sky is bright and low,
a weight of pressing blue.
My soul went out into the wind
and drifted down, and danced on high.
Today's light freezes up my mind
and I must once more cry.
The freedom of the heart and limbs
to take all paths, whatever path,
has vanished. The sun sings and climbs
in ancient love and wrath.
Yesterday I sang: the fall
of snow wept for some, but for me
its benediction over all
set my diffuse 1ife free.
Today I sing because the sun
sings louder than I can uphold
and says, It's all to be the one
of beaten gold.
It's nearly over, and I wouldn't have it
any different, but with ends beginning
something blocks the throat - I wouldn't have it
different, but the heart goes up like tinder
particularly if you've joined the union.
It's a job like any other, I’d say,
though some others hold it wastes more anguish -
anyway, the union was in order,
not to let the inspiration perish
So, they brought in leaders,
made us sign a statement we supported
freedom and equality in hiring.
Only trouble is, what's freedom got
to do with suffering? We are all equal
to suffering. That's when the fire started,
fire burning all equal sufferers.
Sure I'd hoped for freedom, but I thought it
something of a state of mind, respected,
government-controlled - not like this yearning
suffering's let loose.