his rain falls alike
on the wheat and the thistle
his scythe takes alike
the grain and the weeds
after a loss
I have walked long in silence
I have walked long in silence
scuffing my shoes
the rain comes in August
while hay is still sweetening
a sweetness of rot
from the cut feathered fields
his name comes to me
like the dew in the morning
oh pitiless comfort --
I am done with this singing
****
Psalm 72
___________
A revision of this -- mostly I found a title. And cut a prologue. In turn, a radical revision (re-vision) of this. It's getting there.
Toying with writing this in long lines with a cesura -- almost in two columns. It holds together if you read down each column separately, which I discovered accidentally formatting this for the web. Surprising and moving to read this poem I didn't write ....
Does anyone but me remember Desmond Egan's two-column "doubloons"? For two voices?
