Thursday, July 11, 2024

PERSONIFICATION

The way the light 
by which I

write is 
elemental—

but in no sense 
compulsory. 

The way the wind 
wends through birch trees 

to buffet me in 
short sleeves 

at this spot 
on the planet

on this particular instant, 
but never 

can be said to have 
properly had a beginning. 

Perhaps this 
is what we mean 

by essential:
a thing like hunger

which never was 
invented, yet

comes to us unbidden,
grabs hold 

of the void in us firmly 
by the handle, 
 
and fills it 
to the brim.