Trying
Beauty will be convulsive or not at all.
– André Breton
Today, gratitude has been difficult.
The lightness of this week's sleep
like a body inside my body
suddenly limp, tired of trying.
Last night, my brain shot straight up
like a child at bedtime, begging:
One more story. One more song.
And now, a new night approaching,
the forecast for snow and no one ever knows
how much. But I'm a sucker for surprises:
Like the lake this morning, the old Hays Lake,
to my left for the lingering mile. How, today,
it made such a grand show of silence,
impossible glints all along its surface.
This is what I want when I say beauty,
I mean persistence: these reversals we endure—
a hurried blur of clouds closing in.
(Originally published in Northwind)
