A Poem: Darkness

And there was evening and there was morning.
The first day.

If something is decreed
like the shadows falling, the light departing

we need not fear it,
or retreat from its appearance.

As the dark has a certain softness
that the blinding day hasn’t,

a sort of Hallowed Eve,
in which we take our solace.

And under its blanket
so much occurs we’ve never even seen.

Like seeds ripening
to their full in the earth,

as though they know
what it is they’re to do

to burrow their way
towards the surface.

Just as the womb’s enveloping space
gives rise to miracles

whose formation in seclusion
is an ever amazing wonder,

at which we gasp and delight
in what the darkness can produce.

And who has not laid
or dreamt of laying,

or lies in remembrance of
a night on a hill under the stars.

Yes, there was evening and there was morning.
The first day.

The greater light to govern the day,
and the lesser light to govern the night.

Yes, there is something about the twilight,
and a morepork’s distant crying

And the slip of moon
that alights the tree-tops as candle.

And there is nothing like the arms
that reach out under sheets

to pull us as close
as the darkness ever returning.

Or even this,

the feel of hair
as soft as down under our lips

as in the hollow of our arms
our miracles lay sleeping.

No if something is decreed,
as the shadows falling and light ascending

we can receive it as
a kiss upon the brow.

The miracle will arrive
from the deepness of the night

and at daylight we will see
what has appeared.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
March 2019

Photo: Carol Haines

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