Horses At Midnight Without a Moon
Our heart wanders lost
in the dark woods.
Our dream wrestles
in the castle of doubt.
But there's music in us.
Hope is pushed down
but the angel flies up
again taking us with her.
The summer mornings begin inch by inch
while we sleep,
and walk with us later
as long-legged beauty through
the dirty streets.
It is no surprise that danger
and suffering surround us.
What astonishes is the singing.
We know the horses are there
in the dark meadow
because we can smell them,
can hear them breathing.
Our spirit persists
like a man struggling
through the frozen valley
who suddenly smells flowers
and realizes the snow is melting
out of sight on top of the mountain,
knows that spring has begun.
Jack Gilbert
Posted over on Poetics & Ruminations
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