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Click hereOn this cold night, no anything
Just the flow of wonder,
What is flowing outside
No matter
Wonder is not anything
Zero wonder is the same
As wonder twenty fold
It unfolds in quiet,
No matter
Again closes, opens again
Not noticed it skirts
Flirts, trims and envelops
To the elbows of the aware
And unaware
No matter, no substance
In matter
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 35,000 poems.
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That first strophe describes the cold so well, the rest of the piece is almost anticlimactic.
That first strophe describes the cold so well, the rest of the piece is almost anticlimactic.