Friday, July 31, 2009

A poem ...


He listened in silence
As though for someone,
Or only a voice
Whispering comfort.
It would sound, he thought,
Like the water in the stream
At the foot of the hill
Below the house, echoing
In daytime the plangent
Antiphony of sunlight and trees
And at night the promissory
Ground of darkness.
He listened and waited,
Season upon season,
And came to know
Waiting and listening
Whispering comfort.

You can hear me read this poem in the Podcast block to the right.

1 comment:

  1. Anonymous6:00 PM

    Nice, spare. Good use of 'promissory' - excellent word.