by James McAuley

James McAuley

The thin distraction of a spider's web
Collects the clear cold drops of night.
Seeds falling on the water spread
A rippling target for the light.
The rumour in the ear now murmurs less,
The snail draws in its tender horn,
The heart becomes a bare attentiveness,
And in that bareness light is born.

Collected Poems 1936-1970

Last updated January 14, 2019