Sunday, October 07, 2007
A Sheen of Silver (poem)
A Sheen of Silver
I do not know
whether to call you
my old dancer, or
my secret lover,
or maybe simply the One.
Like that bird who sang
outside my window
this morning,
was it an oriole or a robin
or some other,
more exotic strain. . . .
In the pale dawn
I couldn't tell for sure
as its song came
floating down
like a sheen of silver,
a proclamation of private joy,
as if it didn't care
what the rest of the world
thought of such insobriety,
whether or not we approved
of such unabashed display
in the midst of all
our concerns and worries.
And I listened content
though I still haven't
learned the names
of the many birds
or even the trees,
but then you don't have
to name things
in order to love them.
Dorothy Walters
October 6, 2007
