Wednesday, October 21, 2015




The leaves fall from my fingers
Cornflowers scattered across the field like stars,
like smoke stars,
By the train tracks, the leaves in a drift

Under the slow clouds
and the nine steps to heaven,
The light falling in great sheets through the trees,
Sheets almost tangible.

The transfiguration will start like this, I think,
Quick blade through the trees,
Something with red colors falling away from my hands,

The air beginning to go cold
And when it does
I'll rise from this tired body, a blood-knot of light,
Ready to take the darkness in.

- Or for the wind to come
And carry me, bone by bone, through the sky,
Its wafer a burn on my tongue,
its wine deep forgetfulness.

–Charles Wright
The World of the Ten Thousand Things

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