Cicadas blur the ear as the blue heat haze blurs the eye Fulfillment is a word known to be lucky and hence not nice or perhaps a shade absurd Wise folk avoid it though they may speak of days of changing tension Softly the hayfields rise in the seedtime's changing browns and rusts to the green mountain where the farthest crests blur in purple boundaries like the child's outreaching perceptions and fall back in media gloria like the folds of the woman's experience The redwings the meadowlarks the treeswallows zoom in the warmth small and sudden pleasant interconnections uniting all this knowledge with the earth. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A POEM FROM THE EDGE OF AMERICA by JAMES GALVIN YOU KNOW WHAT PEOPLE SAY by JAMES GALVIN CHAMBER MUSIC: 35 by JAMES JOYCE THE DAY OF THE DEAD SOLDIERS; MARY 30, 1869 by EMMA LAZARUS ATELIER CEZANNE by CLARENCE MAJOR |