There are so many poems that give me pause. I feel the beat of my heart, the flow of my blood, embraced, entranced, enhanced. This morning it’s this poem by William Stafford.
Living on the Plains
That winter when this thought came — how the river
held still every midnight and flowed
backward a minute — we studied algebra
late in our room fixed up in the barn,
and I would feel the curved relation,
the rafters upside down, and the cows in their life
holding the earth round and ready
to meet itself again when morning came.
At breakfast while my mother stirred the cereal
she said, “You’re studying too hard,”
and I would include her face and hands in my glance
and then look past my father’s gaze as
he told again our great race through the stars
and how the world can’t keep up with our dreams.
~ William Stafford ~
(The Way It Is)