Eshtine

poem: stream and sun at Glendalough

Here he housed a poem.
I found it on my return.
Did I trace his steps
Near stream and stone,
Near sacred pines, in slanting light?
I did not feel him,
Nor did he write
What I would say--
The place was the poem.
I learned its verse
Standing in that wonder, turning slow,
Believing a tree hollow holy.
Your sun and your stream,
Your light blessing green:
You are what I want my verse to be.
I build my pieced-together dreams
On the sprawl of your ancient majesty.