Ice Storm

For the hemlocks
and broad-leafed evergreens
a beautiful and precarious state of being.
Here in the suburbs of New Haven
nature, unrestrained, lops the weaker limbs
of shrubs and trees
with a sense of aesthetics
that is practical and sinister.

I am a guest in this house.
On the bedside table Good Housekeeping,
and a Nietzsche Reader.
The others are still asleep.

The most painful longing comes over me.
A longing not of the body.
It could be for beauty-
I mean what Keats was panting after,
for which I love and honor him;
it could be for the promises of God;
or for oblivion, nada; or some condition even
more extreme, which I intuit,
but can't quite name.

-Jane Kenyon

This message has been edited. Last edited by: Meredith Jordan,