Although our brains are bright
how often they shine
with the tricky light
of a false dawn
leading us to believe
that the day
has already arrived
until the night
suddenly snatches us back
dipping us deeply
in her dark inkwell
one last time
before letting us write
the real meaning of the morning
across the sky
Though we’ve unrolled the scrolls
of ancient times
and pored over the dry parchment
of many a day gone by
still, nothing could quite prepare us
for the peculiar way
in which this day
slowly began to dawn upon us
Spreading itself out
in an as yet un-heard of fashion
inviting us to invent
a whole new alphabet
as we throw ourselves
into the blank page of today
writing our hearts out
in a sweeping hand
across the mountainsides
in the vain attempt
to publish before nightfall
the unabridged version
of a world without end
Until in the midst of
all this futile scribbling
aimed at the over-arching
articulation of the whole
we suddenly find ourselves
composed in a few simple sentences
uttered so unceremoniously
somewhere between us
and the wild rose
Which blooms in such an ordinary fashion
as all the right words
settle like dew drops
over the whole landscape
sounding out the depths of the day
in syllables of delight
indicating indirectly
the thousand and one things
that can’t be written down
but which nonetheless resound
with such meaningful reverberations
If only somehow we succeed
in saying the simplest thing
in such a straightforward fashion
that when night comes
to drain the color from our words
there will be no doubt
that this day has outdone itself
in a way no other day has done before
distinguishing itself not so much
by the breadth of its rambling
as by the intensity concealed
in such a casual remark as,
“What a day. What a day it’s been.”
The Cry of a Loon was published by The Star and printed by Cottonwood Press in Stevensville, Montana. It was edited by Victoria Howell and illustrated Jack Eppinga.
The booklet contains 22 poems and retails for $17.