Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Be Not Afraid

Another old poem from the moldy, musty folder. Uneven. Derivative.

I still like it.


MARCH
(Noli timere)
.
Close!
.
Almost the vision
.
1 2 3 times in the fading light:
like fish in frozen stream
moving toward evolution.
.
Restless in this waking season
I'm drawn once more to trails and woods
still bare of green and slick with snow.
I come upon a doe, and
startled, half-starved,
eye to eye we know
that we have both survived.
.
I ask the elusive Giver, hovering just beyond reach--
what power have you brought to me,
unrecognized--
imperceptible shining--
my only answer:
sudden golden gliding wingspans in the pouring light;
bare, toothless smiles of old men
grown gay with waiting.
.
I am a singing fool.
Even the peepfrogs know
but say amen at the water's edge
to the shape and sound and smell of things:
to endless march toward what's to come.

2 comments:

21stcenturybuddhist said...

I really love "restless in this waking season". By the way, how very apt that you posted this when the Ostara ritual is tonight.

May Terry said...

Yes, that was my plan :>)

Thank you for the compliment!

May