In the soft arms of the atmosphere,
our common heart’s sincere conversation is worship.
The right action is submission.
Within, the silent soul of the whole.
Beatitude innate, accessible to all. Peace. Wisdom.
In his book Nature (1836), Ralph Waldo Emerson introduced the concept of Transcendentalism — the idea that spiritual truth could be gained by intuition rather than by established doctrine or text. Excerpts from his essay “The Over-Soul” are used in this poem.
Angels not fallen but come to Earth
to help us climb the seven mountains.
Watching us enter the arch of hope,
to the tree of life and sadly
guiding souls to the heaven they lost
The hawk’s shadow wings across the lawn
grazing the young rabbit behind my home
who runs under the bush and fence
that I assume leads to its home.
The shadow remains over both our homes.
I told Mr. Shannon in eighth grade,
I was going to major in English
and would never use algebra after this.
But once again I’m at my poetry desk,
another word problem, solving for the unknown.
We’re writing poems about the virus pandemic,
full of quarantine, social distancing, home sheltering,
sickness, and death in numbers so large
as to be incomprehensible – oh, for poems
not of a time but for time.