Hi Mike,
I thought this piece was weakened, or distracted by the opening reference to
a 'creator'. The piece doesn't really hark back to that opening concept,
apart for some attribution to suggest this is why it is as it is, and it
isn't really enough for me. I think it either needs to be a creator poem or
glory in the way things come to be poem, but not jjust a bit of both? I
might be on the wrong tram, though. Please forgive, if so.
Cheers,
Frank.
The Tales of Faust poetry page can be found at:
http://www.tales-of-faust.com/
>Act
>
>A creator works according to a design.
>Closing the gap between what what is and what is to be,
>matter must be fashioned to fit the spiritīs image.
>So boulders are moved, a stream deepened,
>the marsh drained and cleared of tangled stems.
>
>Look now across this bowl of land
>at the edge of a lake
>to where a farmhouse sits on a rise
>with a line of birch trees beyond.
>Look at this grass, darkest in the hollow.
>
>Grass, so dense, so thick and spongy
>it doesnīt seem real,
>seems to preclude the possibility of roots,
>an underworld of dark mud and dampness
>and genesis in the bottomless brown of bog water.
>
>Grass that belongs to limpid air
>and yellow light and the memory of rain.
>Grass that speaks only of coverings,
>and those man-made. Grass that speaks
>only of surfaces, and those unreal.
>
>
>
>
>Mike
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