Phantom

in the early 1800s
poets walked for days
talking to each other
pouring significance
into the names
of what they say
lake sky nightingale
mountain forest
grasses darkness
ether gold sea
saying them now
I sense natural power
and how it must
have felt to place
them so exactly
a spell that worked
now they hardly
mean anything
or too much
one word always
quietly resisted
light on water
it just reflected
everything that tried
to make it more
than what it was
it hasn’t really changed
since it was said
by the Greeks
and even now
when it’s spoken
it eludes
we still shudder
hidden soul that’s near
form blended
into what surrounds
speaking it
can make you forget
your love of anything
and travel
into the past
such a relief
no matter how bad
it’s over now
but I come back
each time to remember
this is not a story
and all things I love
are real and can
I don’t want to write it
be destroyed

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*****

This lovely fearful poem is from Matthew Zapruder’s extraordinary collection, Father’s Day, a book that deserves far more than a glance.