Viewpoint II

(cf No 0981)


These spacious days
Of hawthorn and of rose
Dreamed in the head
Fire bright
Firs blow
Books piled waiting to be read
And a future that whispers
D..E. come, come into me
take me
and make me your own,
these days you've won
of space and time
outwitting your ten fingers
and your armlength
reaching .D..E.  ...

D..E. do you hear god preaching
from between those fronded
leaves?
are blackbirds believers
in the breath that
made them fly?
you sit and ask, always,
why and why, but must wait
a life lived for an answer .D..E..��. And in the cold ground pressed
Snug in wood
Lie those you would
Impress, make proud,
But their eyes have
Withdrawn into light
And width and time, and you:
Sit tight my dear, sit tight
One day the sun will rise
And you will see
Your view: that picture-place
To live in and, blessed, bathe
With new-found sight
Outflung and not alone

Before the hawthorn
Hand of rose
Words of stone.

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