Trees along the way glow
after recent rains.
Rocky crags beyond the river darkly gleam
in fluctuating cloud-sieved light.
This light itself in part creates,
with beauty of its own,
the beauty hereabout which it proclaims —
a liquid light with subtle clarity,
flowing around all shapes,
softening their edges as it nestles into them.
Such light respects the ambivalence
of boundaries which do not confine but liberate.
Mists and shadows
half create, half conceal
hollows for truth and her sisters,
breeding dens for the could be,
the might be, and the seemingly plausible,
alongside the rankly false
and the untruth that contains a spark of truth.
To us it gives the role of demiurge:
not wholly to create, but giving form and finish
to a world of our own moulding.
On us the burden: to shape for well or ill.
Copyright © Lawrence Johnson 2016
Lawrence Johnson is of American birth though of considerable Celtic ancestry. As an adult he took up an academic career in Australia. As a philosopher he displayed a literary bent. In retirement he took up creative writing, mostly poetry and displaying a philosophic bent. He is the author of Along the Way, a collection of poems and non-fiction prose reflecting on his many and varied encounters with the natural world.