You're at peace again. <br />You smell her musk <br />and sweat <br />on your skin again. <br />You know what Bach means <br />in his composition <br />'the Joy Of Man's Desiring, ” <br />if you didn't you <br />would check out, <br />you wouldn’t bother <br />again to estimate <br />the weight of a moth <br />forcing down <br />a Bird of Paradise <br />petal, that’s for sure. <br /> <br />The bottom of the sea <br />is cruel, wrote Hart Crane. <br />And by that he meant <br />there is a complexity <br />of human personality <br />in which the value <br />of human personality <br />is reduced <br />to a form <br />of ruined or unreal <br />idealizations. <br />And down you go. <br /> <br />Yet, the lightning <br />is a yellow fork <br />from tables <br />in the sky, <br />believed Emily Dickinson. <br />You never considered <br />this poem before, <br />and you only <br />think of it now, <br />because you see <br />how closely <br />we can compare <br />our everyday lives <br />to nature, since <br />it took only <br />a fork <br />falling off a table <br />to call it lightning.<br /><br />Doren Robbins<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/emily-dickinson-s-lightning/
