Every now and then, I post a poem that I hope will inspire close reading, wondering, marveling. Here’s the poem, just for Christmas Eve, when, even if you are not Christian, it can be lovely to slow down and bring a poem into your life.
Once or Twice or Three Times
Once or twice or three times, I saw something
rise from the dust in the yard, like the soul
of the dust, or from the field, the soul-body
of the field– rise and hover like a veil in the sun
billowing– as if I could see the wind itself.
I thought I did it– squinting, but I didn’t.
As if the edges of things blurred, so what was in
bled out, breathed up and mingled: bush and cow
and dust and well: breathed a field I walked through
waist high, as through high grass or water, my fingers
swirling through it– or it though me. I saw it.
It was thing and spirit both: the real
world: evident, invisible.
–– Marie Howe
From her website: Marie Howe was born in 1950 in Rochester, New York. She worked as a newspaper reporter and teacher before receiving her MFA from Columbia University in 1983.