Suspended lion face
Spilling at the centre
Of an unfurnished sky
How still you stand,
And how unaided
Single stalkless flower
You pour unrecompensed.
The eye sees you
Simplified by distance
Into an origin,
Your petalled head of flames
Continuously exploding.
Heat is the echo of your
Gold.
Coined there among
Lonely horizontals
You exist openly.
Our needs hourly
Climb and return like angels.
Unclosing like a hand,
You give for ever.
---Larkin
1 comment:
is it poetry week at Black Sun? Will you delight us with further excellent selections and dig out more not so known van Goghs?
what's bagginsandco?
i do sincerely hope the weather over there doesn't involve bombs.
Post a Comment