It’s as though a lion had overeaten.
——-—In the small pen
—————–—of the oval
mirror, light is clearly feeling
——-—its daylong
—————–—graze.
Blessings brighten
——-—as they take their
—————–—flight
but this is not to do
——-—with any particular
—————–—curse. As the sun
drains from the oval
——-—mirror, evening
—————–—talks
with its tilted
——-—surface. As though
—————–—a lion
had overeaten. As though
——-—a Samson
—————–—stooped in the shadows
ready to tear
——-—the sunset open. Light’s body
—————–—is a sticky
riddle. Out of the eater,
——-—something to eat;
—————–—out of the strong,
something sweet. The riddle
——-—is amber as
—————–—the resinous
hardening of certain
——-—dreams. You must ask
—————–—what it wants and not
what it means. The blessings
——-—of a night
—————–—are many. How
many will any
——-—recall?
—————–—Again the sun
will reach some
——-—zenith. The field will feel
—————–—its sky. As a barn swallow
makes a circle of air
——-—and flies
—————–—through vividness
twice.
——-—You might try to keep the airy
—————–—doublet—ditto
of russet, black and blue.
——-—You might stop
—————–—where roaring
and vanishing
——-—do. Where vanishing
—————–—and roaring remind
you of
——-—the sea. As memory washes
—————–—by and by
to glass the open
——-—scope of air, to hover
—————–—and render
forward progress
——-—a fragile,
—————–—backward
thing. I’ll tell you what
——-—a proverb does. A proverb waits
—————–—for the knowing
animal. A proverb talks
——-—when no
—————–—one listens. A good
hope is better
——-—than a bad
—————–—possession.
When the cup
——-—is full, carry
—————–—it even. When it rains
all night, sunniness turns a cluster
——-—silver above
—————–—the marsh.
Brings dozens
——-—on dozens
—————–—of dragonflies,
some perfect
——-—attraction
—————–—left up in the air.
Sarah Gridley is the author of four books of poetry: Weather Eye Open (California), Green Is the Orator (California), Loom (Omnidawn), and Insofar (New Issues). She is in her second year of a master’s in theological and religious studies at John Carroll University.
