Sunday, October 24, 2010

The Thresholds

The Thresholds
by Gideon Burton

Events conspired to carry me toward
that seam of sky hemmed tight along the crest
where heaving greens touch cloudscapes. Can I soar
above the summer, let my breathing press
fresh indigos and stain my waiting eyes?
And as the sunward-reaching foliage stakes
its weight along the red-black earth, unsize
the curved horizon as the eager ether cakes
with sedimentary mists until the break,
the edge, the terminus of airy space?
Could I return, unable not to shake
from all that's charged my skin and stinging face?
     I watch. I'm still. It rushes to my reach:
     the thresholds, gusting time to close the breach.

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