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.
O at the Edges 
Wonderful
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Thank you, Beth. An oldie, but I still like it!
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I am loving your poetry
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Thank you, Chrissie. Much appreciated!
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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!
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My 80s voice was so inconsistent! It varied greatly, and most of the work from them has been trashed. I hadn’t yet figured out who I was, much less how to write. It took many years to finally feel like I knew what I was doing. And even now I wonder about that. 🙂
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Glad you didn’t trash this one!
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Lovely, simply lovely. Sometimes, for some reason, a combination of words sticks to your mind. The “blur of flowers” and “nights raining in” are going to stay in mine.
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I’m so pleased these lines resonated for you. Thank you!
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…the night raining in through the long hours…
Thinking of Houston and so many other images.
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Night still rains in on me…
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I assembled a chapbook manuscript of poems in this series, and never did anything with it. Maybe one of these days.
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