Today I am pulling on a green wool sweater <br />and walking across the park in a dusky snowfall. <br /> <br />The trees stand like twenty-seven prophets in a field, <br />each a station in a pilgrimage—silent, pondering. <br /> <br />Blue flakes of light falling across their bodies <br />are the ciphers of a secret, an occultation. <br /> <br />I will examine their leaves as pages in a text <br />and consider the bookish pigeons, students of winter. <br /> <br />I will kneel on the track of a vanquished squirrel <br />and stare into a blank pond for the figure of Sophia. <br /> <br />I shall begin scouring the sky for signs <br />as if my whole future were constellated upon it. <br /> <br />I will walk home alone with the deep alone, <br />a disciple of shadows, in praise of the mysteries.<br /><br />Edward Hirsch<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-m-going-to-start-living-like-a-mystic/
