Poem: A Long Arrival Home
A Long Arrival Home
8/24/15
Every week I preach a sermon
But only fifteen people come to hear;
Verse after verse, line after line
A thousand written pages remain
Unread beneath the dust;
Year after year my soul
Has become
Countless songs
Which have touched only the ears
Of spiders and kitchen mice.
Travelling to the city
I wonder
Would there not be more companions here
To keep my life’s work
From obscurity and rust?
A long arrival home, and lightning
Plays over the dark hills
Where there is nothing but the evening rain
Where the insects’ August chant
Seems a sermon well beyond
My learning
A poem outstripping my skill; a note too resplendent
To sing.
O happy limitation!
O glory beyond my scope!
O bubble by inadequacy bust!
To be reminded: all ashes
to ashes
To be reminded
All dust to dust!