There lives the dearest freshness deep down things . . . Gerard Manley Hopkins

 

 

Balsam floods the woods,

    swathing our senses

like moss swaddles roots and earth.

    Ferns flutter in the shadow

of the wind moving through,

    while we descend into the sanctuary

of the gorge like the sun lowers

    its long beams through the green

lattice of leaves above. We hope

    to hit bottom as the thrush

 

throws its deep voice across the crevasse.

    Where a woodpecker knocks on a door

of oak. And a lip of limestone loosens,

    tumbles down, greets us at the stream.

Which even now rips through rock,

    then pools its energy along the banks.

Where minnows animate

    the ruin, stirring the cup

brimming with revival, their small bodies

    flashes of hallelujah.

 

 

From the manuscript Scandal of Particularity.

This poem first appeared in the American Poetry Journal.

Used here with the author’s permission.