Still Water Prose Poems

Copyright @ 1989 by Arthur Garfunkel
ISBN 0-525-24795-5
Used by persmission of Author - All Rights Reserved

9

There is a law to the descent.

First are the duck-pearl darts of purist light,
a morning play in a glacial lake,
trapped by the Alps at the top
of the Albula Pass.

I make my resolve.

Then look up to see mountain scree
and the beautiful alluvial fan.
Scaleless.

Now begin the succulents. Antlered to
the earth, following their spring
fed courses—mountain gorse
amid the stone-gray world,
they introduce autumnal
colors, tart in their
translucence.

The water falls on tumbled rocks.
Foam in light.
Bedazzling.

The eye of the mind is the home of delight.
The face of the soul.
The humbling book.

Who can retell the pleasure of the look below?
What media coverage—the darting
communion, the retinal flow—
newsworthy scan of the scale
of the air-blue valley below?

The skin of rock is hid beneath the forest now.
The road and I in midlife bisect the
pine trees' tilted field. Like
Apollo following Daphne
trapped in trees
I too pine for Her
in the ventilating cool.

Beneath the verdant brow, with drying teartracks
braided on my cheek, I break
the invocation in the clear.
Caroling
Bruegheling
Allawalt!

Merovingian images…holiest history,
These are the upper meadows—



Albula Pass, Switzerland September 1983