Tuesday Poem

The History of Everything II

a lament for the lost phrase, a lay for the never-said
a song for the thoughts that timid knocked but
were not asked in, who wander lonely looking for drink,
dance, welcome, setting up camp on the edge of a dream,
fleeing just before you open your eyes

“Out of the four elements, all things are formed.”
In the kitchen, the dishwasher sings a sloshy song.
Over the airwaves, the Modern Jazz Quartet brings
an obbligato of silver fire. I said “Air,” so must look for earth
and find her in the garden jamming with Forsythia.

waking to the sun rising thinking how
long Light took to get here from the first
let there be thinking how far it has to go
before “Time that takes survey
of all the world, Must have a stop”

Day in gray pajamas yawns, stretches behind
the far hills then dresses in bright clothes
to walk about the backyard with his friends.
He reaches through the window to touch
my forehead with a father’s blessing.

Forest Floor Seen as a Prayer Rug

Rot of leaf, twig, branch. Bits, pieces
of fallen trees, armies of mushrooms
beneath cap helmets. The droppings
of small animals upon the grainy moss.
What place better to ask blessing?

Thinking of Angels

Sometimes we see a sliver of light like the reflection
off a shiny surface but there is no shiny surface, sometimes
between you and the sea, a transparent opaqueness.
They haven’t fallen – they’ve drifted down, drawn
by the gravity of what? flesh? love? hunger? ending?

by Nils Peterson
All the Marvelous Stuff
Caesura Editions, 2019