So What Will You Let Praise?

sometimes in the demesne
of mosses, where green coronates
the penumbral air, you may sense
footfalls of spirits slow dancing

though only when mind
stoops under
its visible weight of vassalage
into the quiet nook of its
alterior side, and slides
past the precious grasp
of its unblooming, unshining
self-ignorance

 

(c) J. Celan Smith