Monday, January 27, 2014
"How It Is"--Poem by Dorothy
How It Is
Don’t tell me that when the angels
listen to Beethovan (say his Concert for clavier,
violin, and viola) –that they don’t dance around
in heavenly spirals,
become their ultimate selves.
Or when Brahms’ German Requiem begins to play,
that they don’t move in procession
around the throne,
ranks and files
in proper order.
How else account for that sweet honey
that flows down to us
when the music
begins to play?
How explain
what it is
that then enters
and claims us?
For a moment
we too float above
as if we were
angels alongside
the others.
And then for a brief time
we are more
than we are.
Dorothy Walters
January 25-27. 2014
(Picture: How it looked from my window this morning. It snowed all last night and
all day today--but of course, still not as much as other parts of the country are experiencing.)
