Saturday, December 26, 2015

Eyes as windows

When these grand heavens first felt their need, I know not;
that eyes, as windows, should open and close at their behest and trust,
ancient then as now do ours; sight, spiritual; bones, as so much dust;
sails the wind through wild forests springing, yields both to touch;
as the first dove seeks mate to love; I know not but to bow,
and kneel, and shout; open, shut, ’t is not my will,
nor the grace that comes to fill yours,
these windows still, now waking;
or how the sun comes up,
the other stars quiet
but not forsaking;
I know not,

only that I find them waiting.

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