Anodyne
Monday, September 20, 2004
 
Emily Dickinson, for an afternoon of low fall light and masses of slowly rising clouds along the North Shore peaks:

There's a certain slant of light,
On winter afternoons
That oppresses, like the weight
Of cathedral tunes.

Heavenly hurt it gives us;
We can find no scar,
But internal difference
Where the meanings, are.

None may teach it anything,
'T is the seal, despair,
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the air.

When it comes, the landscape listens,
Shadows hold their breath;
When it goes, 'tis like the distance
On the look of death.


- posted by cjb @ 8:19 PM


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