Thursday, April 9, 2015

If There Were Two Rivers by Jan Zwicky - NPM9

If there were two rivers.
If their water were clear gold.
If it were a flood, a homecoming, and where they joined, 
          a standing wave, its crest of white.
If you climbed the hill alone, returning,
          and the grass was golden in the evening light.
If the golden water leaked around your feet
          out of the earth.
If it was everywhere you stepped--gold, streaming,
          and the clear light going down.
If, in the other dream, the children ran away. 

If it were a ship, and the evening light at sea.
If it were a church, and the orange light of evening.
If there were no roof or walls.
If it was made of fire.
If it were radiant.
If it were massive, weightless, and a white fire
          misting from its centre like a breath.
If the rock was raw but glistening.
If it lit the foyer--if the light were all below and
          the other rooms were dusk.
If what happened was: you stood there.
If there was nothing to be said.

If it glowed.
If the glow was like a silent speech.
If the light was like a haze, a mist: if every detail
          were exact.
If it broke you open.
If your blood shone on the hearth.
If the silence deafened you.
If what you saw was the necessity.
If the hammer of it brought you to your knees.
If the hammer of it clove your heart.

If what lay below was light.
If what you could not find was there.
If its hard fire was a golden river.
If the golden river was a forge.
If the forge was rock, and if the rock was shining.
If the forge was love.
Zwicky, Jan "Absence" Forge. Kentville: Gaspereau Press, 2011. 39-40.

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