dialectics with the eternal

Plato, Azaleas, Bluebird                  

  

A shaft of sunlight on the creek; in the shallows
Three trout slip in & out of shadow, nudging moss-green stones.

The mathematicians tell us that there are
An infinite number of infinities.

Did I say July? My grandmother said, I meant 1953.
A spray of lilacs in a small vase.

I was trying to identify the little bird in the pine tree
That makes a sound like Plato crying in the forest.

Spooned together in bed, my arms around her, our fingers
Touching. I notice our hands are sleeping swans.

                                       ~

Old & twisted cottonwoods line the creek;
It’s their asymmetry that gives them balance.

Is there anything you have left undone?
Is there any undone thing you have left?

We lay down in our bodies. Such a nice place to be.
Thank you thank you thank you thank you…

Rilke words: star, puppet, mirror, rose.
Dickinson words: purple, soul, secret.

Did I say lilacs? I meant azaleas.
Did I say Plato? I meant Chief Joseph.

                                       ~

Silhouettes of horses returning to the barn at dusk.
A mountain bluebird sings a last song with his whole body.

It’s not ugliness or violence
That will break your heart, but beauty.

I don’t think I can bear it any longer, my friend said,
& I don’t even know what it is.

This evening’s sunfall is a literal translation
Of Dickinson’s poem beginning, The skies can’t keep their secret.

Let worry sleep; let hope dream.
Let silence have the last word.

                             Gary Short

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