Sunday, December 26, 2010
All drawings untitled 2004
Look at the flowers, true to earth's ways,
we lend them fate from the rim of fate-
but who knows! If they deplore their decay,
it's up to us to be their regret.
All wants to float. But we trudge around like weights.
Ecstatic with gravity, we lay ourselves on everything.
Oh what tiresome teachers we are for things,
while they prosper in their ever childlike state.
If one took them into intimate sleep and slept
deeply with things- oh how light he'd come
back, changed with change of day, out of a mutual depth.
Or perhaps he'd stay; and they'd bloom and praise him,
the convert who's now like one of them,
all the calm sisters and brothers in the meadow's wind.
(The Sonnets to Orpheus: Second Series)