Saturday, June 23, 2012

THE RIVER RUSHES


The river rushes,
The last rains of spring.

A rose bud in my hand
Opens;
Its petals fall to the ground.

This Moment—
A clod of earth
Between my fingers,
Crumbling to dust.

I brush it off,
And reach out
For the next touch.

Springtime
To summer sunlight.

I am that Light;
And I am the dust
Returning to the Earth.

                         Diane Shavelson (~1999)

2 comments:

Zenmonkman said...

Excellent poem BTW!

Anonymous said...

Diane, your gifts of deep feeling and connection speak to me so clearly through the music of your poems. Thank you, dearest. Love, Audrey