Poem
The Old Station
If I properly understood
The jagged grass
Thrusting its sharp green
Among the deserted gravel
Of the old station:
If I understood just this;
Then surely all would come to life,
The stones tumbling through blue sunshine.
Granite melting beneath the arrows of soft rain,
And falling, flowing: as we fall, flow in our loving.
And it would not be quiet, this fall and flow.
No. It would tumble through tempests,
Raging raw, raw and green and jagged as grass
That desperately seeks
Its consummation.
© The Estate of Ronald M. White
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