It seems a secret but is as plain as light in color
and as unimportant to the sighted eye.
Untried and slighted, not ready to be held,
not fearful, not restless; unbetrayable, aloof,
it is no more than muggy dawn above green marsh,
a sunblast edging the cold, serrated desert.
It could slant down easily in dusty rays at concrete
or tumble in specks through forest cover,
but it does not travel with the day.
If it had drops, or whispered, neither liquid
nor sound would need to emerge, or come or go to any place.
It does not need to rest or flow. It does not need.
We will grasp the perfect curve
that lets a bird soar with our longing,
that lets our hearts assuage themselves,
when all our moments swerve as one,
and settle in their form regained.
~~~~~~~~~~
Douglas Logan
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