Not long ago,
a child knelt down
at the knee of her father
not with reverence,
something more...
like a moth settling
upon un-natural light
or the way
the moon clings
to divinity more tightly
than the rafters
of its sky.
What is a father?
Half of the beginning,
a guiding bell, the sound
of which leads us
to higher grounds,
a tree whose leaves
remind us of ourselves.
No comments:
Post a Comment