Joy Ascendent

Painting by Mattjin

Joy Ascendent

Fall stalks us
orange crisp in autumnal splendor,
glamorous make up mantling
the ice storms to come;
brilliantly bathing death
as natural, as preamble
to gestation, to more life.

Summer still lingers,
but there is no heat in the sun,
even for the gray gulls soaring
over our yard after following
the brown ribbon of the Puyallup
up from the industrial mud flats
at Commencement Bay;
or above them
on the long silver bodies
of the fat airliners winging south;
or above them
in the black nethersphere of space
as astronauts broadcast
their imitations of Elvis;
or above them
where the lesser gods gather in cabals
to plot the weather,
and bet on the ponies;
or above them
where some Godhead resides,
fully sentient of us
loving our daughters,
perched there on high
He can already see
the beautiful women they have become,
aware of every leaf that falls,
every nail that’s hammered,
every bullet that takes flight,
every politician’s lies,
every child’s cries,
every grain of sand stirring
in the guts of oysters,
every sub-atomic particle
ready to bond into crystal
or flesh.

Glenn Buttkus October 2010

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