NOT IDEAS ABOUT THE THING BUT THE THING ITSELF
Another long winter,
Ice fractals on the insides
Of windows, snow drifts,
And mud.
One morning, the juncos
Go missing at the feeder,
And the sun angles earlier
Into my bedroom,
And, if I listen very well,
I hear it, how that light,
As a still, small voice,
Begins to sing
And when I walk outside:
Seedlings top the soil with green,
Leaves bud, pollen surrounds the junipers
Like a halo.
Like a new reality,
My senses apprehend spring.
This poem is from the chapbook His Only Merit by Benjamin Green (Finishing Line Press), and can be found at https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/his-only-merit-by-benjamin-green/
Benjamin Green is the author of eleven books including The Sound of Fish Dreaming (Bellowing Ark Press, 1996) and the upcoming Old Man Looking through a Window at Night (Main Street Rag). At the age of sixty-eight, he hopes his new work articulates a mature vision of the world and does so with some integrity. He resides in Jemez Springs, New Mexico.
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