Listening
A sky from which all but the last blue has been lost
So the mountain against it stands like a great smoothed tusk
Wintered alone.
There is no wind, and yet
Sometimes the uppermost spindles of the birch trees dance
Criss-crossing the sky.
All of it about coming to a cabin to ask for quiet
Waiting for blue lightning to flash the ground
Just once, and leave words burned in frozen snow.
From Kenneth Steven's newest volume of poems - Letting in the Light - published by SPCK in London in September 2016, and available also as an e-book.
No comments:
Post a Comment