Archive
04/19/09
Wordsworth's Legacy
This week, I've given my gentle devotion to the redbuds, In their soft, sacred magentas, purples, and burgundies, And to the dogwoods, holy in their glowing pink and white halos.
All these colors color me, in natural piety. Necessarily, when April sets about weaving its tapestries, I can almost not contain my rage to celebrate.
That I appreciate spring's epiphany doesn't go without saying. If it did, I wouldn't feel so compelled to shape syllables, Vowel chimes throbbing with life, into metered free verses,
Compose my own "Ode: Intimations of Immortality"s As though there might not be another chance To plant imagination's impassioned seeds, in the soils of time, And see them grow into full-blown redbuds and dogwoods Beguiling the sky, the earth, my mind, with audacious impastos — Declarations of resurrection blossoming from Wordsworth's legacy.
04/19/09
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