The here-and-now finds vigil transfiguring

whatever is

yet ignorant of your beauty.

Any one of us, given a certain light,

shall make and be immortal:

streets of Jerusalem, seraphs the passers-by,

and other extras, artisans per diem,

imperative in hindsight

a brief blessing.

I cannot tell how we might be otherwise

drawn to the things occluded, manifold,

the measureless that stands

even so depleted

in the faint rasp of dry autumnal flowers.


Geoffrey Hill

(From Canaan)



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