Quietly

To Be Sung On the Water

Beautiful, my delight,

Pass, as we pass the wave.

Pass, as the mottled night

Leaves what it cannot save,

Scattering dark and bright.

Beautiful, pass and be

Less than the guiltless shade

To which our vows were said.

Less than the sound of the oar

To which our vows were made.

Less than the sound of its blade

Dipping the stream once more.

– Louise Bogan

Something’s turned, is turning. Something invisible and internal, leaving less than the sound of the blade dipping the stream. Rest assured, it’s quite loud from where I stand.

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~ by weltschmerz on July 22, 2010.