How the old mountains drip with sunset
—Emily Dickinson
Dear Emily,
It was just as you said, tonight,
the San Juans rose and blue,
and in the shallow reservoir,
the herons dripping, too—
I did not mean to startle them
as grayly there they stood,
but on hushed feet I stepped myself
into solitude.
Wing after wing they rowed themselves
into the muted dome
till all went dim—oh dark abyss!—
and we were held as one.
This one is superb! Every gesture and dance, it’s just perfect. The photo is excellent, the poem, starting with Dear Emily, is intelligent AND passionate.
I love the rhyme that carries through without dominating, so like Emily — especially the hyphens at the end.
This part, so much reminds me of her:
I did not mean to startle them
as grayly there they stood,
but on hushed feet I stepped myself
into solitude.
It is a celebration, in words. For sure, this goes into the book of books.