In the Eternal Moment
Grading papers late into the afternoon
when the sun must surely shine dazzling
down upon tulips and daffodils
never viewed from this windowless classroom.
So much is read, so little drank in.
Where are the winds?
Where are the woods?
Where are the reeds?
Where is the water?
Where are the sails?
Where is the soul?
How do I sell the light
in the golden afternoon?
How do I convey walking
down these cobblestone words
through shipyards
through shipyards
and fish factories centuries
past, and out
over the seawall and into
the bay?
Walk on water, walk on water:
water, words, air, soil, soot,
earth, always the earth,
calling us back
to the moment
deep and lasting.
How do I convey
that the poem exists
in the space between
so much depends
and what
follows?
© Steve Brown, 2014
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