The Poem
In the apparent
vacancy beyond
each line, you might
sense the poem
waiting to think
itself. Imagine
the surface of a twilight
pond in wind,
shifting and changing
the sky, then
going still
as a concentrating mind,
the far trees
deepening
in its reflection.
Like the poem
the pond’s alive—
its beauty (the sudden
scintillation of a hundred
thousand wavelets)
and music (the percussion
of a beaver’s tail)
arising from what is.
And when the pond
accumulates
the darkness,
which it loves,
it challenges your eyes
to find the light
that without darkness
you could not see.
Wild campsites
you never noticed
now appear
along the far shore.
It’s not only itself
the poem waits for
moving line by line
into its own dark.
It waits for you.
Copyright Credit: Wesley McNair, "The Poem" from The Unfastening. Reprinted by permission of David R. Godine, Publisher, Inc. Copyright © 2017 by Wesley McNair.