rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Beginning

Sunday has come around again, the quiet morning, but it seems too soon. A calm, warm air lies on the land. I have paced the walk while the stars wheeled. Where its black paint has chipped, exposing steel, the dark yard lamp reflects the gibbous moon's glow. The sky has barely begun to show blue, and only the white and yellow roses have emerged from darkness; Those of deeper color need a stronger light to bring them forth. Night conceals the pale things last, and its end reveals them first. White fence holds one patch of darkness from another, until growing light places it in its landscape, restoring its purpose. The world of fragments is reassembled slowly, and in a while there is a street and there are houses, and then the first jay shatters the quiet to announce that wholeness is returned.



Sunday Verse

Beasts

by Richard Wilbur

        Beasts in their major freedom
    Slumber in peace tonight. The gull on his ledge
Dreams in the guts of himself the moon-plucked waves below,
      And the sunfish leans on a stone, slept
          By the lyric water,

        In which the spotless feet
    Of deer make dulcet splashes, and to which
The ripped mouse, safe in the owl's talon, cries
      Concordance. Here there is no such harm
          And no such darkness

        As the selfsame moon observes
    Where, warped in window-glass, it sponsors now
The werewolf's painful change. Turning his head away
       On the sweaty bolster, he tries to remember 
          The mood of manhood,

        But lies at last, as always
    Letting it happen, the fierce fur soft to his face,
Hearing with sharper ears the wind's exciting minors,
      The leaves' panic, and the degradation
          Of the heavy streams.

        Meantime, at high windows
    Far from thicket and pad-fall, suitors of excellence
Sigh and turn from their work to construe again the painful
      Beauty of heaven, the lucid moon
          And the risen hunter,

        Making such dreams for men
    As told will break their hearts as always, bringing
Monsters into the city, crows on the public statues,
      Navies fed to the fish in the dark
          Unbridled waters.

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