Search This Blog

Saturday, July 31, 2010

Nothing to Ask

I do not ask. I breathe

and the drenched spruces drip

drops, fresh circles within spreading rings

radiate in hypnotic grace

across the pond's dim mirror. I breathe

in, welcome the air thrust from the eternal wind.

I do not ask why

the rain heavy Columbine dips

to brush the earth, sheds crystal beads

hung like glistening tears from the storm's dark eye.

My father who loved old oaks and sunsets,

fresh picked sweet corn and overripe peaches,

died in a sparse white room, void of human blush,

of even the faintest pink of dusk. As the last wind

leaves, swirling its pale petals of light, there is nothing to ask.