When the poet W.S. Merwin died a couple of weeks ago, we bought his Collected Poems of W.S. Merwin. We’ve been opening them at random daily every since, amazed that he could express so clearly what lies largely beyond our conscious mind, yet there, waiting to be recognized. His poem “Spring” so perfectly describes the inbetween days before spring is fully apparent, when the mindset of winter remains a presence amidst the occasional valiant bud breaking through the ground.
The glass stems of the clouds are breaking
the gray flowers are caught up
and carried in silence to their invisible mountain
a hair of music is flying
over the line of cold lakes
from which our eyes were made
everything in the world has been lost and lost
but soon we will find it again
and understand what it told us when we loved it.