The end of the stem
is where a flower starts. At the end
of a ragged leaf a sated bug steps.
The end of the trunk is where the tree
plunges past seeing and the roots’ ends
commence the purest conversion.
The river turns out on the ocean,
the sky turns over the bowl of stars
with no end to the spilling space.
Woooooooooooooowwww… One of the most powerful poems I’ve read/heard in a LONG long time. Thank you for sharing this with us.
You’re too kind—but I’ll take it. Spun from a conversation with my favorite spiritual philosopher / mystic / shaman / wife…
Well, I’ll be danged, Jeff…that conference musta did ewe sum good! Thasssa purt decent poem! (Just the mention of eschatology scares ME as it reminds me of my doctoral course at Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary. My son was born by Caesarean section at that time and I dropped out and never got the doctorate, though I did get a Master of Divinity (MDiv) degree. Had I worked toward the doctorate, my major field would have been…*drum roll, boys* — Eschatology! (Seriously)
But *which* end? Which is the point? Which is the point…
Have reread this a few times already, you’ve packed a lot into seemingly simple lines!
I was hoping you’d find some space to play in this one. Thanks!
I liked this one so much I went back three times today. 🙂 The payoff is huge, but the middle stanza is my favorite: light to nourishment.
That is awesome. That just made my day… Three times.
Beginning at the end, ending at the beginning, and so much between. Very powerful piece, Jeff.
“the sky turns over the bowl of stars / with no end to the spilling space.” Gorgeous lines.
Thank you, Dana. Very happy to see you over here.
Jeff, why ain’t you famous and read by millions of English majors? There is no end to my spilling disbelief, about that.
I’m honored to read those words from you. You know, that’s the part of the poetry transmission equation that the poet doesn’t control much. But I’ve never been one to send my work out much. WordPress has been really cool for me in that way.