Night comes closer,
and the world is sand-
whipped and dry
and the elm trees bow
to the verge of breaking.
I am shedding skins
as desert things do,
and despite violent wind,
despite heat, despite
spines and barbs and
things that prick,
my edges are soft.
Above the river,
dozens of dark
winged bank swallows
dart and make praise
of the evening air
and the wild roses
spill their pink perfume—
the scent of miracle
is everywhere
and I, too,
bow to breaking.
It’s interesting, the way you’ve made the first stanza to reflect such harshness, and the second to embody fullness. And the change “as night comes closer.” Very nice. The fullness is my favorite, but they are certainly two parts of the same thing.