the grace of the child

The grace of the child
understated, but
given away by the sun and the wind.
Here, in my bower
I await the arrival of a new
solemnity of southwind
to fill my sail. Over the hills
a new song fills
the whole of the sky
its lean conventional lines
matching the understatement
of the deeply profound recorded voice.
I listen and the evening goes away.
The conventions lie deeper than this,
I realize, we must try
burrowing deeper
even for partial answers.

written early 1981

© John Close