Hours

Hours

who remembers can
the blur of
flowers be so

unpleasant if as
Creeley says “imagination
is the wonder

of the real”
what then is
presence obtained from

nothing the mere
transformation of shape
to glory incessant

as the night
raining in through
the long hours

 

* * * *

A poem from the mid-80s. I don’t recall where the Creeley quote came from.

12 thoughts on “Hours

  1. Savoring phrases … fascinating combination of intrigues in this one. “who remembers” … “blur of flowers” … “transformation of shape to glory incessant” … “night raining in”.
    Recent nights so full of literal rain! I suppose a roof coming apart in a storm is potential transformation of shape into glory of some blurred sort …
    I like your 80s voice!

    Liked by 1 person

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