Friday, October 27, 2006

From the chalice of Arthur Durkee

come see: how quietly they move through the stones.
parchment fingers rustling their leaf tambourines.
the dew is on the grass. their feet, in all their wanderings, do not touch.
they float above the earth, or dissolve near to it, into it.
their compass rose is of the greater earth: these leaves fall through them.

we rise up out of the very fields we tilled: these cemeteries, plowed anew.
every year, the miracle of wheat. sweep the garden for next year’s roses.
snow falls around us, whitens our scalps: no summer’s day outruns us.
shake the leaves off the headstone: a million butterflies take wing.
the ash tree whispers: home; we’ve come home.

Find Arthur here


Anonymous said...

Wow! That's a really wonderful piece. Amazing imagery.

Saaleha said...

Quite some poetry that. And his website is really cool. Yeah, I know i sound like a kid. It has something to do with having runny porridge for brains right now. Bear with me.

Lee said...

Has he thought to put it to music?