Let’s light in the late afternoon
Shines and moves through the chinx in the barn
As the sun moves down, climb the veil.
Let the cricket scratch
When a woman puts a needle on it
And her thread. Let’s spend the night.
Let me throw away the dew strip
In the long grass. Let’s show the stars
The moon then discloses her silver horns.
Let the fox return to the sand nest.
Please extinguish the wind. Let’s make it a shed
Make the inside black. Let’s spend the night.
In a groove bottle, in a scoop
With oats, suck air into your lungs
Let’s spend the night.
It should be, and not
Be afraid. God will not leave us
It’s comfortable so spend the night.
+Jane Kenyon
Kenyon died of leukemia 30 years ago in 1947. In her life, she was often eaten by her husband, poet Donald Hall. But her poetry endured. Her grandfather preached the fires of hell. She fled the church. She returned. Her work does not preach anything, she hides anything. Faith breathes – not as a dogma, but as a living experience.
Copyright Credit: Jane Kenyon, “Come in the evening” Collected poems. Copyright©2005 by The Estate of Jane Kenyon. Graywolf Press, St. Paul, Minnesota, reprinted with permission from www.graywolfpress.org.
Approx. 2 + 2 = 5
Source: 2 + 2 = 5 – williamgreen.substack.com
