Purple hazy, the color of spring lilacs
In the not-quite-night summer evening.
The setting sun turned the sky over
To the twilight, which can only visit
For a little while. The half-light is
Saying its goodbyes before turning
The heavens over to night’s inky dark.
We stand in front of a cottage,
White clapboards where words live
And welcome us to their home
A library, maybe a chapel, where
We band of poets have once again
Joyfully celebrated our own special
Liturgy, our coming together, sharing
The words become verse and live
Among us, and we bring those words
To life, each in his own unique way,
According to whatever skill he has.
Tonight we have celebrated with wine,
But on most nights our bare words
Suffice as our elements: a communion…
And so tonight as our service ends,
You call my attention to the sky,
To its color, clarity, and the way
Its breezes weigh upon our senses.
I wouldn’t have noticed, I get so lost
In myself and my present necessities.
Thank you for showing me something new.
-19 June 2010