simonhlilly

WARMING

(The ghost of William Blake conversing with
The ghost of Samuel Palmer, down by the apple
Orchard, perhaps)

Sunlight gathers heat.
Sparrows in the eaves
Flustered wings, feeding, fetching.

Small is the delight
That accumulates bliss, drop by drop.

The easy centuries
Of a cat’s sleeping breath.

It is a life of small moments,
A slow, steady filling:
Small moments noticed,
Not blessings to be prayed for,
Not dreams to be hollowed out from air,
Not glorious futures
Nor the wrinkled, cold hand of victory.

Upholding the fragile,
Precision of caring,
Peculiar coincidence,
Unexplainable connection.

No arrows of equations pinning certainty,
The sly, mad oracle of statistics,
Prophecies of bacterial bloom.
Summer storm
Here and gone..