It's raining. The sun is setting, and a cold, pelting rain is coming down. I'm looking forward to the end of the day, the time when I can set aside thoughts of work and school. That time will not be happening soon. I still have lots of work to do.
I am tired. I have a lesson plan to complete, quiz to put together. Then, papers to grade. Lots of papers. Poems to pick out for my reading on Thursday. My week will not slow down until about 7 p.m. on Thursday night.
Maybe Saint Marty should have painted water lilies instead of writing poetry.
by: Robert Hayden
Today as the news from Selma and Saigon
poisons the air like fallout,
I come again to see
the serene, great picture that I love.
Here space and time exist in light
the eye like the eye of faith believes.
The seen, the known
dissolve in iridescence, become
illusive flesh of light
that was not, was, forever is.
O light beheld as through refracting tears.
Here is the aura of that world
each of us has lost.
Here is the shadow of its joy.