Lovely, Dark, and Deep
by Philip Pompetti
I’m reminded of a poem past written.
One of woods that are lovely, dark, and deep,
Of promises yet to have been fulfilled.
Of miles to go before one can sleep,
Of miles to go before one can sleep.
The shadows take up more space than the light,
but this only serves to bring out what light
there is. So brightly it shines through the leaves,
so much darker become the shadows here.
The miles turn to minutes in this place.
Growth, overwhelming growth, has taken root.
Green encroaches, masking all in its path.
Growth, the child of the sun is reborn.
Green swallows, drinking up the earth, the rain.
Growth, the prodigal son returns in spring.
Roots tangle like lines on a boat at rest.
The leaves become the sails of the vessel.
A green trunk, rising forth like a great mast,
wrapped in growth like lichen is ought to do.
This place, this green place is a sea of life.
The knuckles of a god come forth as rocks,
slowly pushing up, one with the earth’s floor.
Uneven ground gives way to fallen logs,
their dizzying array like child’s play
in a hallowed place, hewn with bands of peat.
I have wed to this place, this great green place.
I have made my home among the branches.
I have found a wife in the colored leaves.
I have fathered children on mossy beds.
I have miles to go before I can sleep.
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