Thursday, September 22, 2011


The window-skirts are long and closed of late.
Of fabrics varied: denim, paisley, plait.
The light is shut and closed away.
Even windows now blind and unashamed.

For eyes of man, humanity obscured,
halves on either side of pane,
the hills and sun are shut and still,
and man awaits the light of shame.

O, how to choose a single view
the many landscapes of human truth.
The many fields of golden wheat.
The reaping ready, kids to feed.

A single sill with single glass,
a single faith, a single mass,
a single, slow, first married-dance.

The sight first seen after purest day,
The myst'ry changed when cleared laid.

The singular glory of a single sun.

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