stillness
is the night air.
this is not accident--
this is not faith or hope--
this is Bach,
this is
mathematical perfection:
the quiet of the forty-eighth avenue,
the breathing of streetlights,
the knowledge that
all is as you imagined
all is as you thought
and all you thought was good.
6 comments:
"the quiet of the forty-eighth avenue,
the breathing of streetlights"
You have a way with words Bernard. I like this a lot. It's so still and beautiful.
I love how the night air isn't still, but rather that stillness IS the night air. Very beautiful.
Bernard this made me cry an I'm uncertain as to why.
It's beautiful.
I remember this,
you do have a way with words Bernard, this is exquisite.
This is so quietly beautiful and hopeful and content. I love it.
"this is Bach,
this is
mathematical perfection:"
I really liked those lines. It just adds to the simplicity of it. No emotions really, everything is calculated; no need for making things messy with indefinable feelings.
Beautiful. Just plain beautiful. I love how you start your poems. I love how there's never really a beginning or end to your poems. Maybe because grammatically, there aren't any, but it reads that way, too.
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