pinnacle to heavenward
The Silken Tent
She is as in a field of silken tent
At midday when the sunny summer breeze
Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent,
So that in guys it gently sways at ease,
And its supporting central cedar pole,
That is its pinnacle to heavenward
And signifies the sureness of the soul,
Seems to owe naught to any single cord,
But strictly held by none, is loosely bound
By countless silken ties of love and thought
To every thing on earth the compass round,
And only by one's going slightly taut
In the capriciousness of summer air
Is of the slightlest bondage made aware.
Robert Frost
There is a deep, steeped calm swirling in to replace the strange confusion and unwelcome bitterness I have felt. The vaporous fog is lifting just in time for spring. I hope there will be more flowers. Lip-soft petals to kiss my cheeks and fill my head with their pink scent. The sun will draw their drooping heads from the frost-laced ground and everything will be full of color.
There is something in those eyes.
I think pointing heavenward will do us some good now.
I'll keep that.