When you catch a glimpse of it,
in the sunlit glade,
among the high hills,
among the white-crested waves,
does it move?
or is it unmoving,
this graceful vision of it?
it seems unmoving, yet
faster than the mind moves;
ahead of all your senses;
even roaming wild and joyful
among the high hills,
its white mane flying free,
somehow it's still
within its movement,
within your stillness;
can you see the tracks of fish,
or the airy passage of the birds?
it's beyond movement, even beyond stillness;
and yet, you love it,
yearn for it, although it - because it
runs faster than the mind of man.
Is that its love?
This has a really lovely paced feel to it Michael. There seems to be something experimental in it, perhaps it is the theme; it's not a theme in which you take up much. There is a strong emotive feel to it and the manner in which you have laid it out is great. It reminds me, a bit, of some of your sonnets. I am not sure about the final line, it seems to be a give-away and instead of remaining lost in the piece the reader has an escape. Perhaps that's just me.
This poem is as graceful and flowing as the steps of a unicorn would probably be. Love, Gina.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I'm intrigued by the relationship of movement to stillness - remember Michael Johnson sprinting with that unique upright posture as if parts of him were quite still? And then, the concept of Providence always just 'ahead' of us in danger?