Pool in the Woods
The sun shows the wood
the mystery of its nuclear fusion,
how it streaks in bright filaments
to illuminate the moss-dressed branches,
how it infiltrates the uncertainty
of what resides in the darkness.
If there is a god, then she is here,
solar, pregnant with light,
she is here forging silver shades of lichen
and turning leaves to the golden dust
that every star is born from.
She is reinventing everything.
Sit with me upon the soft lap of a clear pool,
be still with me,
and in the silence of ourselves,
we will hear only the politics of bees,
words that ripple at the water's edge
and the citizens of trees,
and when we merge
into this godliness of greenness,
we will tremble with love.
This is a product of insomnia written at 3.30am following a brief twitter conversation about this painting Pool in the Woods. (I always knew that Twitter was the devil's work.) So this is another ekphrastic poem from me. Which might be a bit too...well, I might end up deleting it when I wake up. We'll see. Image is from wikimedia commons.