Poem
David Brooks
Eschatology
Eschatology
Eschatology
Minddwells on apocalypse,
the body digs
the shutting of a gate,
the turning of a sod, a page
once done is
done, a work complete
the change,
the travelling
come down to this,
the great circle of days,
recurrence of the simplest things.
Between two slabs
I dig a wine-cellar,
floor it with brick,
wall it
with brick and board
soon I will stock it, build
a new shed over it,
soon
the eggplants will rise, tomatoes
push up behind the basil,
and my child will be walking.
You write from California
astonished at my faith in Things
What can I say?
There is a place, a border
where chill leaves the words,
where even the fire leaves
and all that is said becomes hopeless.
Deeper still
there is a place where it begins again.
© 2005,
From: Walking to Point Clear: Poems 1983-2002
Publisher: Brandl & Schlesinger, Blackheath
From: Walking to Point Clear: Poems 1983-2002
Publisher: Brandl & Schlesinger, Blackheath
Poems
Poems of David Brooks
Close
Eschatology
Minddwells on apocalypse,
the body digs
the shutting of a gate,
the turning of a sod, a page
once done is
done, a work complete
the change,
the travelling
come down to this,
the great circle of days,
recurrence of the simplest things.
Between two slabs
I dig a wine-cellar,
floor it with brick,
wall it
with brick and board
soon I will stock it, build
a new shed over it,
soon
the eggplants will rise, tomatoes
push up behind the basil,
and my child will be walking.
You write from California
astonished at my faith in Things
What can I say?
There is a place, a border
where chill leaves the words,
where even the fire leaves
and all that is said becomes hopeless.
Deeper still
there is a place where it begins again.
From: Walking to Point Clear: Poems 1983-2002
Eschatology
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