Friday, July 16, 2010

To understand
A little of how a shaken love
May be sustained

The giant stillness
Of a willow

After a storm.
This morning it is more than peaceful
But last night that great form

Was tossed and hit
By what seemed to me
A kind of cosmic hate,

An infernal desire
To harass and confuse,
Mangle and bewilder

Each leaf and limb
With every vicious

So that now I cannot grasp
The death of nightmare.
How it has passed away

Or changed to this
This clean peace

That seems so unshakable
A branch beyond my reach says
It is well

For me to feel
The transfiguring breath
Of evil

Because yesterday
The roots by which I live
Lodged in apathetic clay.

But for that fury
How should I be rid of the slow death?
How should I know

That what a storm can do
Is to terrify my roots
And make me new?
~ by Brendan Kennelly ~

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