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Thursday
Apr172014
The dove still called
Thursday, April 17, 2014 at 04:44AM 
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H o m e w a r d W i t h a B r o k e n W i n g
Elmwood Cemetery
Columbia, South Carolina
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Morning-fair, follow me further back
Into that minnowy world of weeds and ditches,
When the herons floated high over the white houses,
And the little crabs slipped into silvery craters.
When the sun for me glinted the sides of a sand grain,
And my intent stretched over the buds at their first trembling.
That air and shine: and the flicker's loud summer call:
The bearded boards in the stream and the all of apples;
The glad hen on the hill; and the trellis humming.
Death was not. I lived in a simple drowse:
Hands and hair moved through a dream of wakening blossoms.
Rain sweetened the cave and the dove still called;
The flowers leaned on themselves, the flowers in hollows;
And love, love sang toward.
Into that minnowy world of weeds and ditches,
When the herons floated high over the white houses,
And the little crabs slipped into silvery craters.
When the sun for me glinted the sides of a sand grain,
And my intent stretched over the buds at their first trembling.
That air and shine: and the flicker's loud summer call:
The bearded boards in the stream and the all of apples;
The glad hen on the hill; and the trellis humming.
Death was not. I lived in a simple drowse:
Hands and hair moved through a dream of wakening blossoms.
Rain sweetened the cave and the dove still called;
The flowers leaned on themselves, the flowers in hollows;
And love, love sang toward.
from The Shape of the Fire
=Theodore Roethke (1908-1963)=
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Dedicated to the memory of Collin Rhys Chittick
(April 17, 1986 - July 8, 2002)
on what would have been his twenty-eighth birthday
and in memory of
Ruffian (April 17, 1972 - July 7, 1975)
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