What endless teeming in creation, hints
the limitlessness in the limits. You watch
one black and green field-bounder, bounder
of the blades and poles of straw, watch, intent,
then for an instant lift your face to meadow’s
stratosphere, then turn it quick back down
to your canoe-keel-honed grasshopper,
and it takes a long while until you find
where he was; he hasn’t moved an inch
yet you, at a loss in crossing brands of almost-fire grass,
adjust and adjust…and he, he is clinched.
Paul Stilwell is a member of the Epiphany Sacred Arts Guild (epiphanysacredarts.org). He is currently learning iconography under the guild’s president, Frank C. Turner.
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