An Effort to Enter into Morning
by Brenda Hillman
Orange thorns snag the hair.
The old fist of bourbon
flowers in the mouth
as you step out,
the doormat wet and straight
behind your foot,
the screendoor shutting and shutting
like a fact in the mind.
The most difficult thing
is to see the morning
for what it is: a foolish
autumn, a pale crust of dragonflies
frantic in their amber
coats, circling in slow
difficult joy.
Wow - I love the *depth* of *awareness* in this poem, truly *seeing* what *is.* Beautiful...
ReplyDeleteLovely photo.
ReplyDeleteA foolish autumn.
I'm not familiar with the work of Brenda Hillman, but this poem delights me! "Circling in slow difficult joy" — that's a brilliant comment on life's journey.
ReplyDeleteYou had me at the image, Ruth...but the poem is one to savor slowly!
ReplyDelete