A Ritual To Read To Each Other

poem for sunday, april 13

A Ritual To Read To Each Other

If you don't know the kind of person I am
and I don't know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made may prevail in the world
and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.

For there is many a small betrayal in the mind,
a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break
sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood
storming out to play through the broken dyke.

And as elephants parade holding each elephant's tail,
but if one wanders the circus won't find the park,
I call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty
to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.

And so I appeal to a voice, to something shadowy,
a remote important region in all who talk:
though we could fool each other, we should consider—
lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.

For it is important that awake people be awake,
or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep;
the signals we give—yes or no, or maybe—
should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.

— William Stafford from Stories That Could Be True


poem for saturday, april 13

The Meandering Sky

And I'll look at the sky if I can see
and think why didn't I stay longer
why did i stop gazing how could I
not recognize the grain and linking
and the blue nap going to the edge
the long wave of silk that covers me
the faces and animals and all colors
which are the texture and the depth
of that great fabric enfolding treetops
softly not to bruise the apple buds
not to be sullen or pale for long
but to carry my hands to breathe
on my forehead and comfort my temples
and wait for me not even wanting to wait
but dawdling like a child among flowers

— Benjamin Saltman from The Book of Moss