Daniel Barton, “Island Processional”

If there is place beyond language
let us find it, where syntax unravels
and without words we can define
cord grass from black needle rush
and know the marsh
transfigured to gold
from windswept green is not
alchemy. Looking into water
we can see beyond reflection
where light ends
the flash-flames of fish
ignite roots of drowned pines,
though we speak ourselves
separate. Let us walk in silence
beneath oaks and lanternglow
of sun webbed in moss
and be lost.
Let us follow the hush
of waves rearranging the shore
grain by grain and let them
define us by how they ripple.
There we can stand, feet invisible
in metallic sheen of sea,
and know that we feel
the give and take is enough.


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