By Sean O’Brien
At the mouth of the river,
Moon, stars, an Arctic calm,
The twin lights at the end of the piers
Revolving with the smoothness
We expect of supernatural machinery.
Seen from down here on the beach
The harbored ocean slowly tilts,
Like a mirror discreetly manhandled
By night from the giant room
It was supposed to occupy forever.
The mind says now, but the stars
On their angelic gimbals roll
And fade, a tide of constellations
Breaking nowhere, every night
About this time. Strike up the band.
In the tumbledown bar, the singer
Has fallen from stardom and grace,
But though her interests nowadays
Are wholly secular, she can
Still refer back to the angels,
And knowing that song, we share
A moment with the saved before
We leave to make the crossing.
No captain, no ferry, but
Cross we shall, believe you me.
Source: Poetry (January 2018)
More Poems about Nature
Listening in Deep Space
We've always been out looking for answers,
telling stories about ourselves,
searching for connection, choosing
to send out Stravinsky and whale song,
which, in translation, might very well be
our undoing instead of a welcome.
We launch satellites, probes, telescopes
unfolding like origami, navigating
geomagnetic storms, major disruptions.
At the Equinox
The tide ebbs and reveals orange and purple sea stars.
I have no theory of radiance,
but after rain evaporates
off pine needles, the needles glisten.
In the courtyard, we spot the rising shell of a moon,
More Poems about Religion
Wake up, greet the sun, and pray.
Burn cedar, sweet grass, sage—
sacred herbs to honor the lives we’ve been given,
for we have been gifted these ways since the beginning of time.
Remember, when you step into the arena of your life,
For the Feral Splendor That Remains
sometimes I strain