new poem : déluge, tout était si infini
I am this history of ethology-
in furore iustissimae, in a rush
of ink-flow from pen-nib at
the witching hour, in bell-sound
lugubriously rung, crow’s call
or rooster’s crow simply sung.
your pilgrimages in special years,
your wonted ardour, your desire,
open hands on broad piano’s keys,
covert sounds in hidden hours of
rural memory and rustic home.
this is the murmur of knowing-
vast emotions, like the flooding following
a week of snow dense and deep, - déluge,
tout était si infini, these bright things
wrapped in words bespoke, touched by
rainwater, saltwater, fog of night or
war.
***
now, in special days, seasons of days,
we’re at the beach, causing memories
and forcing ourselves into a place fit
only for the moon and sea, these cold
nights that only oceans should know
become our backdrop as we arrange
history in tandem and escape worlds
infinite, yet mundane, still beautiful.
-for Vincent