by Paul J. Willis

This evening we are awash in light.
     It buoys the mountains as if they have finally
          found their proper medium, their true home,

as if only now the peaks and ridges
     and chaparral have come to the surface
          and are free to look around, to take in air,
               to catch us up in their respiration.

If only we could bathe ourselves
     in light like this the whole year through.
          Could we survive, amidst so much joy?

This evening is the highest tide,
     the crest of possibility.
          All ships come in:
               hulls sleek, sails shining.

—from Say This Prayer into the Past

Poem of the Month: June 2014

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