A First Star
The spark which is day
Like a single star's
light
On a perfect,
pure fresh snowfield,
Given texture only by the
Ruffling,
ridging effects of the wind;
A fireless flash in the
Pure blackness
of the limits
of the void;
A point,
Encompassing
all being
In a single,
aware moment;
Life and birth and death
In an all-colored
colorless
Spark of
becoming;
The day, the night,
And the
unfolding of creation
Rolled
into an instant;
A spark, like the snap
Of the
chilling limbs of an oak
On a winter
hillside,
Echoing
a most peculiar song
To an almost
earless
Ever listening
stand
Of brush
and hibernating trees.
1/10/84
