Winters are long here.
The road a dark gray, the maples gray, silvered with lichen,
and the sun low on the horizon,
white on blue; at sunset, vivid orange-red.
When I shut my eyes, it vanishes.
When I open my eyes, it reappears.
Outside, spring rain, a pulse, a film on the window.
And suddenly it is summer, all puzzling fruit and light.
FROM ‘WINTER MORNING’
BY LOUISE GLÜCK
by Charles Simic
Lisel Mueller, “A Prayer for Rain.” Originally appeared in the March 1964 issue of Poetry magazine.
The phrase “sullen griefs of love.”
HT to Alysse, who understands.
Still, what I want in my life
is to be willing
to be dazzled —
to cast aside the weight of facts
and maybe even
to float a little
above this difficult world.
I want to believe I am looking
into the white fire of a great mystery.
I want to believe that the imperfections are nothing —
that the light is everything — that it is more than the sum
of each flawed blossom rising and fading. And I do.
— Mary Oliver, “The Ponds”