Icarus In Relief
The vespers have fallen,
I carried them near through the day-lit hours,
remembering, remembering;
they had fallen beautiful on us.
Love it is out of my hands,
I can only bear witness:
In the beginning only the sweet-song of the nightingale
heralding the dying sun down to rest,
triumphant as the wide blue sky-vein is sliced
as it bleeds out the deep lavender and blazing pink light,
that pale and sick lovely light,
that first sign, that wonder.
Love hold me in this loving light,
hold me and become a witness to this,
survive with me in this lovely sick light.
It is beautiful, this earth, drifting softly;
the hum of diminishing power in root and rock,
the hum of unused energy in bough and leaf,
the hum of desperate life within man and beast,
all the deep mysteries in us, in these
and all unveiled as we prepare for the imitation, the rest of night.
Love hold me, and be witless, and breathe deep, and sink down, sleep.
The vespers fall upon us
for a moment blazing, breathtaking-
then their sign is forgotten, then their wonder worn out,
then suddenly only a memory for the mourning, only the peel off a bell.
sweet poem ashley…then again, most of your poems are awesome.
Carl