At Eighty

For Karen Croft

At eighty I began to notice clouds
no longer as mere omens, metaphors
or even as bearers of blessed rain
but in themselves: each one in a cloud-rich sky

a creation to be climbed in the mind’s eye
as an angel would an Alp, or like an elm
humbling us with its vertical majesty
and so unlike the next majestic elm

Listen to those discords that their leaves
make in the wavering wind, no longer just
a flat susurrus, more like a symphony

or a symphonic tune-up at a concert
cavernous with echoes and allusions
it could take a lifetime to interpret

From: Walking on Darkness, Sheep Meadow Press, forthcoming.

Posted: Tue 22 Mar, 2016