deepundergroundpoetry.com
On Years and Years
1.
When did the recognition come?
The slow submission of dreams,
the wind turning to glance down the years
like a steady erupting silence:
things seem hardly to have changed
at all, your hands, your face,
your hair, your lips:
even your heart is still beating.
2.
Evening approaches. There will be no
moon tonight, the evening before graduation,
out on Lake Michigan: the small tiny tidy
boats go home to the seagulls' cries,
their curved magnificant sails in flight:
from an imagined fire-sun.
When did the recognition come?
The slow submission of dreams,
the wind turning to glance down the years
like a steady erupting silence:
things seem hardly to have changed
at all, your hands, your face,
your hair, your lips:
even your heart is still beating.
2.
Evening approaches. There will be no
moon tonight, the evening before graduation,
out on Lake Michigan: the small tiny tidy
boats go home to the seagulls' cries,
their curved magnificant sails in flight:
from an imagined fire-sun.
Published 11th Jan 2012
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