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CheckoutSo trued to a roar,
so accustomed to a grimace
of against, I hardly noticed
it was over.
Like an invalid I crept
out into the open
(since when was there an open?)
and like a revenant lipped
the names of things
turned things again:
white pine, quaking aspen,
shagbark that by all rights
should have been shorn.
Was it for this, I asked
(since when was there someone to ask?)
that I was born?
No answer, unless of leaves
acquiring light, and small lives
going about their business
of being less,
and on the clear pond
(and in the clearer beyond)
the mien of a man
unraptured back to man.
Patricia Hawkes
My Part Under the oak tree I’m as still as a needle when a record plays I listen enrapt the whole is world turning and each moment displays a constant joining of countless journeys in wondrous ways together working with each mite a note in a fuller phrase so helping to lead the whole movement onwards with me serving to raise this breathtaking symphony to heights sublime through awe and praise. pah
Michael Kozubek
All three present great spiritual presence and turn of phrase. Revealing again that a good poem need not be long. I like this one the best.