Saturday, March 10, 2012
The moon drops one or two feathers into the field.
The dark wheat listens.
There they are, the moon’s young, trying
Between trees, a slender woman lifts up the lovely shadow
Of her face, and now she steps into the air, now she is gone
Wholly, into the air.
I stand alone by the elder tree, I do not dare breathe
The wheat leans back toward is own darkness,
And I lean toward mine.
~ James Wright
from Collected Poems
photo by Gerhard Richter
with thanks to crashingly beautiful