What is so utterly invisible as tomorrow? Not love, not the wind, not the inside of a stone. Not anything. And yet, how often I'm fooled-- I'm wading along in the sunlight-- and I'm sure I can see the fields and the ponds shining days ahead-- I can see the light spilling like a shower of meteors into next week's trees, and I plan to be there soon-- and, so far, I am just that lucky, my legs splashing over the edge of darkness, my heart on fire. I don't know where such certainty comes from-- the brave flesh or the theater of the mind-- but if I had to guess I would say that only what the soul is supposed to be could send us forth with such cheer as even the leaf must wear as it unfurls its fragrant body, and shines against the hard possibility of stoppage-- which, day after day, before such brisk, corpuscular belief, shudders, and gives way. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEVOURER OF NATIONS by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET FOR OUR BETTER GRACES by JAMES GALVIN CONSECRATED GROUND; READ AT THE NEW YORK CITY HALL by EDWIN MARKHAM THE DESIRE OF NATIONS by EDWIN MARKHAM GOOD-BYE DOROTHY GAYLE: THE ROAD TO BUFFALO by KAREN SWENSON |