Image: source.
Embers
by Henri Cole
Poor summer, it doesn't know it's dying.
A few days are all it has. Still, the lake
is with me, its strokes of blue-violet
and the fiery sun replacing loneliness.
I feel like an animal that has found a place.
This is my burrow, my nest, my attempt
to say, I exist. A rose can't shut itself
and be a bud again. It's a malady,
wanting it. On the shore, the moon sprinkles
light over everything, like a campfire,
and in the green-black night, the tall pines
hold their arms out as God held His arms
out to say that He was lonely and that
He was making Himself a man.
NOTE: Embers by Henri Cole is republished here without permission with no intention to profit in any way whatsoever except to share a little beauty with my readers and to provide a little comfort to my own aching heart.
However, I do want to support the efforts of poets, so here are all three books of poetry available by Henri Cole that I recommend to you; The Visible Man, Middle Earth and The Look of Things.
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