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vaneramosThe park closes at eleven
but still, five minutes after, a lamp floods the path.
It continues its work without flinching.
All the trees of the woods,
all the weak late drifts of snow,
the sodden grass of graves,
the multitude of droplets caught in the window screen
contemplate, absorb, reflect, refract its light.
The transferred pulse from its filament
continues, perpetual,
caught in fibre of bark, the cellulose,
the drenched loam, ice crystals,
the pulsing, receptive retina
translates photons to touch the mind,
but coldly standing, unchanging.
Away from from the lamp lies darkness,
the friend whose embracing awakens creation.
Dreaming conceives universes
that scarcely catch the sieve of memory.
~
For this poem I stole several phrases from a short passage of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass: "work without flinching", "grass of graves", "perpetual transfers" and "creation is the friend whose embracing awakes me."
but still, five minutes after, a lamp floods the path.
It continues its work without flinching.
All the trees of the woods,
all the weak late drifts of snow,
the sodden grass of graves,
the multitude of droplets caught in the window screen
contemplate, absorb, reflect, refract its light.
The transferred pulse from its filament
continues, perpetual,
caught in fibre of bark, the cellulose,
the drenched loam, ice crystals,
the pulsing, receptive retina
translates photons to touch the mind,
but coldly standing, unchanging.
Away from from the lamp lies darkness,
the friend whose embracing awakens creation.
Dreaming conceives universes
that scarcely catch the sieve of memory.
~
For this poem I stole several phrases from a short passage of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass: "work without flinching", "grass of graves", "perpetual transfers" and "creation is the friend whose embracing awakes me."
