unask

 

three (again)

 

O dearest three,
I make a soft reply.
I come with kisses in my hood
and the sun, the smart one,
rolling in my arms.
So I say Live
and turn my shadow three times round
I say Live, Live because of the sun,
the dream, the excitable gift.

 

Anne Sexton

 

 

 

 

three

 

II

I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.

III

The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.

IV

A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.

XII

The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.

 

From 'Thirteen ways of looking at a blackbird', by Wallace Steevens

 

 

 

 

seascape

 

Look, stranger, at this island now
The leaping light for your delight discovers,
Stand stable here
And silent be,
That through the channels of the ear
May wander like a river
The swaying sound of the sea.

Here at the small field's ending pause
Where the chalk wall falls to the foam, and its tall ledges
Oppose the pluck
And knock of the tide,
And the shingle scrambles after the sucking surf,
and the gull lodges
A moment on its sheer side.

Far off like floating seeds the ships
Diverge on urgent voluntary errands;
And the full view
Indeed may enter
And move in memory as now these clouds do,
That pass the harbour mirror
And all the summer through the water saunter.

 

W.H. Auden

 

 

 

 

focus

 

They say eyes clear with age,
As dew clarifies air
To sharpen evenings,
As if time put an edge
Round the last shape of things
To show them there;
The many-levelled trees,
The long soft tides of grass
Wrinkling away the gold
Wind-ridden waves--all these,
They say, come back to focus
As we grow old.

 

Philip Larkin

 

 

 

 

skies

 

We never know how high we are
Till we are asked to rise
And then if we are true to plan
Our statures touch the skies --

The Heroism we recite
Would be a normal thing
Did not ourselves the Cubits warp
For fear to be a King

 

Emily Dickinson

 

 

 

 

world beyond this one

 

Cat stands at the fridge,
Cries loudly for milk.
But I've filled her bowl.
Wild cat, I say, Sister,
Look, you have milk.
I clink my fingernail
Against the rim. Milk.
With down and liver,
A word I know she hears.
Her sad miaow. She runs
To me. She dips
In her whiskers but
Doesn't drink. As sometimes
I want the light on
When it is on. Or when
I saw the woman walking
toward my house and
I thought there's Frances.
Then looked in the car mirror
To be sure. She stalks
The room. She wants. Milk
Beyond milk. World beyond
This one, she cries.

 

Frances Mayes

 

 

 

 

what was said to the rose

 

what was said to the rose
that made it burst into flower
was said to me, too;
it was said to my heart

 

Rumi