“The voice of my beloved! Behold, he comes, leaping over the
mountains, bounding over the hills.” –Song of Solomon 2:8
Besides the conversation of the cricket
And distant whirs of passing cars, no voice
Invades this night. The grazers in the thicket,
If not asleep, stay watching, stand with poise.
Unlike the doe, with soft eyes wide, content,
I watch with care as constant as a stoplight:
I flicker. Eyes soon droop, and spirit spent,
My ears benumbed to creatures out of sight.
But spoken words will shake me soon awake,
I know. I have been told. I will behold
The far-off voice, beloved, bound to break
This day with song and scatter all the cold
Of every quiet dusk. And when he comes
I will arise, my night of waiting gone.
Wednesday, September 18th 2024
