From This High Window


From this high window
the invisible wind
moves silent trees:
motion without sound,
dance without song.

Behind painted walls
and heavy curtains,
I cannot not hear
the tumult,

but opening the heavy door,
at last I hear the trees sing,
stirred to passion
by unseen hands
waving branches
swept up
by the compelling wind

and drawn outside,
exposed and complete,
finally I face the clear maelstrom,
my own hair flying free,

and gaze at the trees,
wild men
dancing as they chant
savage hymns
to their howling god.


One thought on “From This High Window

  1. Absolutely wonderful images, Steven, clever, and the metaphor of the trees during the storm as “wild men/dancing as they chant/savage hymns/to their howling god” is not only perfect, but magnificent poetry.

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