Whatever I bring to the darkness—
old pain, unquiet dreams,
ambitions clutched against
my jealous heart
and its deeper mysteries—
fog finds a home for it.
And above the dissolving world gone
thick to eye and field and tongue
if Orion lacks compassion
at least he is up there
singing, my one
I could lose the path
to this dark
this glorious gladness.
I could follow this: subtle tap
of maple trees loosing withered cradles.
And toad, canting
the grey-grass liturgy
I can be quiet,
constant—and I will wander
out of the fog
of my too much self.
This poem was originally published, in a slightly different form, in Leaping Clear.
You can also find it on the walls right now at Creative Spirits Gallery in West Linn, Oregon, part of the “Thin Places” October/November photography and poetry exhibition.
2 thoughts on “Die to the Old Year”
This is lovely as always. I love the imagery of Orion above and the toads below.
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Thank you! And thank you for saying this specific thing, because I didn’t even put that echo together in my own mind, and I absolutely love seeing things in my work I didn’t know were there. :)