Wednesday Poem

To a Friend Who Likes Transcendence

Here’s a brook in all its April energy.
.
Up its steep and many-bouldered bank
a profusion of nasturtiums scatter –
“like bright syllables”
a transcendentalist poet might say.
.
Her eye would read that poem.
She’d hear harmonies of rock and water,
feel the soft touch of sun,
the warm taste of spring,
and think of what it meant.
.
Yet, air is full
of a blue confidence in itself.
The world is full of fullness.
.
Nothing to transcend here.

.
by Nils Peterson

from All the Marvelous Stuff

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