Friday, July 5, 2013

a haze on the lens

I feel dulled. . .

I feel dulled,
the sheer effort of a school year
and then getting out here to Wyoming
hazes the lens through which
the outside tries to touch me: 
the towering snowy rocks of the Tetons
contrast against the flat green lushness of the Snake River valley,

a heron displays for us with casual power,
3 elk meander downslope and across field,

and I know I should be mightily moved,
but I’m not all here yet:
the keen edge of my cutting through 
to what is real enough to shake me, 
that edge is dulled,

the white of a waxing Moon overhead
is mirrored in head and tail of an eagle flying by,

yet I am drawn more to the white of the sheets 
which call me to sleep.

by Henry H. Walker
June 17, ’13

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