“Still, It Is Within”


“Still, It Is Within”

Still, it is within another winter’s votary’s thought at last;
I know I will not be with you here beyond the death
Of these same embers in the hearth, this house arrest
Of days and nights so beauty-worn. I am the fast
In winter’s moonlight bringing closer all who see
So little lit save in one another; days begun, recessed
Before their time. And so it is with graduated rest
From daily obligations, time enough to dream, at least to seem
To one another safe enough for one brief season, a familiar in the close
Encounter with so little interest but in the present evening’s run
To fetch a cow within, a log from out back, to secure the sun
But barely born. The moon grows reticent as the rising orb discloses
Evening weeds and as we build fires and take the steam.
The flame’s worn warmth is strong and so is loved…and so must it seem.


4 responses to ““Still, It Is Within”

  1. warmth wrapped around cold bones, like a living blanket. I can see the dancing shapes in the flames from the fires. x

  2. I said before how I often read your poems and realize there is much more meaning within the woven words than I can extract—though, I’m always extremely satisfied with the flow of meaning that does reach me

    • I think this is true of any one of us attempting to understand anyone else in this world. Sometimes, for me, poetry [and literature in general] is as evocative and obscure as any human soul I know. Certainly, you are as mysterious and elusive to understand as I may be to you, but in spite of this kind of obstacle to comprehension, we cannot do without each other.

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