Early morning, up from a deep langorous sleep
Things have shifted, a final advent window
unlatched to solve a mystery,
reveal a precious gift
that with it brings an unexpected end to wanderings
and in a single enveloping instant
an abiding sense of home.
I am in awe. I never expected to see
beyond the surface glisten
and now am drawn deep into the warm
miraculous depths, an end to one journey,
the start, perhaps, of another.
***
images:
Andrew Wyeth, Master Bedroom, watercolor, c. 1965 (detail)
Joseph Cornell, Toward the "Blue Peninsula":
For Emily Dickinson, box construction, c. 1952
***
#405
It might be lonelier
Without the Loneliness -
I'm so accustomed to my Fate -
Perhaps the Other - Peace -
Would interrupt the Dark -
And crowd the little Room -
Too scant - by Cubits - to contain
The Sacrament - of Him -
I am not used to Hope -
It might intrude upon -
Its sweet parade - blaspheme the place -
Ordained to Suffering -
It might be easier
To fail - with Land in Sight -
Than gain - My Blue Peninsula -
To perish - of Delight -
Emily Dickinson, c. 1862
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