There’s something in both of these poems pointing the same way:
A Few Delicate Needles
It’s so delicate, the light.
And there’s so little of it. The dark
is huge.
Just delicate needles, the light,
in an endless night.
And it has such a long way to go
through such desolate space.
So let’s be gentle with it.
Cherish it.
So it will come again in the morning.
We hope.
by Rolph Jacobsen
from The Roads Have Come to an End Now
Copper Canyon Press, 2001
Poem as Bumble Bee
of course
it cannot
fly
fat thing
with stubby
wings –
yet see
it lumber
from
reader
to reader
legs
loaded
with flower
dust.
by Nils Peterson