The Wings of Our Comprehension
We will sense you
like a fragrance from a nearby garden
and watch you more through our days
like a shaft of sunlight in a sickroom.
The God that is coming, The Book of Hours II, Rilke.
like a fragrance from a nearby garden
and watch you more through our days
like a shaft of sunlight in a sickroom.
The God that is coming, The Book of Hours II, Rilke.
My soft taupe dog sleeps in her crate
Now and then watching me with her dark eyes.
Does she ask me of time
and mortality?
Does she ask me of time
and mortality?
Oh my shaft of sunlight
This One I cannot discern
With ordinary vision
I look out the window
I see the blank and voiceless day
The subdued hours of late autumn
Afternoon's pretext of stasis--
Yet impending mirth-filled hours
press against the door
Of the heart’s shaded cloister.
How it is that sunlight is penetrable
By fine-boned birds, that they should
Breast through it like water?
Lacking wings, in a truancy
Of the will, we lay our migratory hands
Upon comprehension's knife
Of the will, we lay our migratory hands
Upon comprehension's knife
Drawing it cleanly through fresh bread.
copyright Jenne' Andrews 2011
3 comments:
Lovely! Lovely! Brava! Bella! So nicely done Jenne. I love your images and textures, I could feel the sunbeam.
I have the feeling this poem will, indeed, be perceived differently by every single person who reads it... I am not a religious person, so I quickly discarded the idea of God and saw 'you' speaking only to the ray of light... And I liked it.
and so we should be, we should be, we should be, and as we are here being, we should sing.
in a truancy
Of the will
it is by our own fault that we fail. i think on all of the concrete here. we lay it down. we hold ourselves too far from god and being. we should return to the forests, the fields. we should be.
xo
erin
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