Summer mornings begin inch by inch

We haven't had a poem in this space lately, and today seems like a good day for that. At dusk today Venus will cross the sun, a celestial rarity. Perhaps that suggests a poem with something celestial in it? Our friend Karen in Tennessee sent this poem yesterday, and I like it a lot:

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Horses at Midnight Without a Moon

by Jack Gilbert from Collected Poems

Our heart wanders lost in the dark woods.

Our dream wrestles in the castle of doubt.

But there's music in us. Hope is pushed down

but the angel flies up again taking us with her.

The summer mornings begin inch by inch

while we sleep, and walk with us later

as long-legged beauty through

the dirty streets. It is no surprise

that danger and suffering surround us.

What astonishes is the singing.

We know the horses are there in the dark

meadow because we can smell them,

can hear them breathing.

Our spirit persists like a man struggling

through the frozen valley

who suddenly smells flowers

and realizes the snow is melting

out of sight on top of the mountain,

knows that spring has begun.