POETRY
Posted: Tue Oct 01, 2013 4:49 am
Sword of the Wind, by Charles Carreon
Penetrating the interstices
of the world,
Breathing through the holes,
gaps, and cracks
in mountains, caverns
trees and teetering shacks,
The sword of the wind,
delicate as a whisper,
tastes the surfaces
of all exposed forms,
savoring the contours of terrain.
With deft, gentle strokes,
pressing the formless form of mist,
with unbluntable edge
shaping the clouds
like a swordsman playing with smoke,
sometimes leading, sometimes following,
Dividing the hills,
dabbling the surfaces of
lakes and brooks,
rattling the dry branches
of winter, removing every
wisp that obscures the
eye of the sun,
The implacable blade has
innumerable emanations,
everywhere addressing the
face of substance, even in
stillness standing at attention
with the edge before.
Light itself blesses the blade,
An invisible gleam runs all down its length,
And settles in the empty sky.
Penetrating the interstices
of the world,
Breathing through the holes,
gaps, and cracks
in mountains, caverns
trees and teetering shacks,
The sword of the wind,
delicate as a whisper,
tastes the surfaces
of all exposed forms,
savoring the contours of terrain.
With deft, gentle strokes,
pressing the formless form of mist,
with unbluntable edge
shaping the clouds
like a swordsman playing with smoke,
sometimes leading, sometimes following,
Dividing the hills,
dabbling the surfaces of
lakes and brooks,
rattling the dry branches
of winter, removing every
wisp that obscures the
eye of the sun,
The implacable blade has
innumerable emanations,
everywhere addressing the
face of substance, even in
stillness standing at attention
with the edge before.
Light itself blesses the blade,
An invisible gleam runs all down its length,
And settles in the empty sky.