Les plus lus ▸
Anne Scott Musil
what we make you inherit
we say ourselves inheritors
of all we are mostly unseen
all we can change or can't
and will or won't
our debris insights skyscrapers
word or insect bites
cocky unsure in inequality wars states
wanting to pass down green
sun-blessed greeneries or symphonies
or vulgar croons
We work read news sometimes
protest make gardens birdbaths poems -
try. Meditate to tap real
subtler realms our
inner light.
They brought me ambrotypes
Of the old pioneers to enlarge.
And sometimes one sat for me—
Some one who was in being
When giant hands from the womb of the world
Tore the republic.
What was it in their eyes?—
For I could never fathom
That mystical pathos of drooped eyelids,
And the serene sorrow of their eyes.
It was like a pool of water,
Amid oak trees at the edge of a forest,
Where the leaves fall,
As you hear the crow of a cock
From a far-off farm house, seen near the hills
Where the third generation lives, and the strong men