Our sullen retreat into the ever-there, Our reliance on the invisible Or recourse to given revelation, Brightens my minute's thought to crucible 5 And pulls some lasting gold from my flame's care, As if we knew our wishing and the wish were one. What do we need of what seems infinite? The partial glare of being here, just here, Is enough of heaven to round our minute 10 And puts a light, however lone and bare We cry for things more determinate, Into all we seem to see and share. I will not falsify my fire, but answer all and one: No answer yet but becoming to become.
From the collection "The Timid Leaper"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.