Oct 6, 2008


We've talked of beauty before, you and I--
You sense it like one does a storm yet beyond treeline--
It's snow and ozone; woodsmoke and car exhaust--
More a filling of shadow than a diminishing of light--
Beauty, you say, is a tempest as eager as it is impetuous--
A wind that stirs in steady buffet--
Lightning that whips and does not strike--

Fine, my love; fine--
It is also a word beyond my ken, my mind yet rises to claim--
Here I am, a hawk disowned from the sky.