WEBVTT

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This is called
"Rather like a Dream."

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"If Wordsworth, a
boy, reached out

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to touch stone or tree to
confirm his own reality, that

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wasn't so crazy
or even illogical,

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for we have all done the same
or at least felt the impulse.

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Right now, I feel it, for I walk
in the mountain woods alone,

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hour sunset, season when
the first maple leaf falls

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red, the first beech leaf gold.

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Each leaf, each species,
gathers brooding beneath it

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its film of darkness and waits.

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And the promise of another
summer is already a dream.

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Thus years, as I
stand at this moment,

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are gathered in their
brooding darkness beneath.

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Another summer is
now truly a dream,

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to join those moments
and hours of joy that

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dissolve into
glitter like tears,

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then gather from
under a brooding leaf

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to join the darkness of
conifers not yet snow draped.

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I stand on stone
and am thinking,

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am thinking of what is no more.

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Oh, happiness,
often unrecognized.

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But shade hardens and years
are darkening under each leaf.

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Old love.

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Old folly.

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Old evil.

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Old anguish.

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And the drawstring of
darkness draws tighter.

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And the monks-hood of darkness
grows like a sky overall,

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as I stand in the spruce
deep where stars never come.

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I stand, hands at side,
and wonder, wonder,

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if I should put a hand out
to touch tree or stone just

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to know, to know I am real."

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