Springtime Returned
Some leaves have turned
While others cling to summer
Even as light moves
Across the branch's hoar frost.
I am not sure
What was meant or even
If meaning was implied
By her glance.
Still, springtime returned to my step. (to my step)
In the valley houses
Sat in floodplain waters like rowboats.
A blue porch swing upheld
The rather large rear end of Mrs. Jenkins,
And her cat, swinging as if no amount of rain
Could dislodge or cause worry.
This appearance of appearance,
All a post-apophatic canticle whose
Cataphatic theology un-limits
The limitation of unlimitedness
Still, I cannot be certain
That this tenth bull girl's glance
Was actually the harbinger
Of springtime in fall.
Certainly, it turns
To itself in the simplest regard,
Implying no complexity or need,
No theoria or praxis,
But rather a source of all things
In nonorigination
That unutterable straight forwardness
Which is the form of prayer called
All Things
All Things
All Things
All Things
Some leaves have turned
While others cling to summer
Even as light moves
Across the branch's hoar frost.
I am not sure
What was meant or even
If meaning was implied
By her glance.
Still, springtime returned to my step. (to my step)
Still, springtime returned to my step. (to my step)
Still, springtime returned to my step.
While others cling to summer
Even as light moves
Across the branch's hoar frost.
I am not sure
What was meant or even
If meaning was implied
By her glance.
Still, springtime returned to my step. (to my step)
In the valley houses
Sat in floodplain waters like rowboats.
A blue porch swing upheld
The rather large rear end of Mrs. Jenkins,
And her cat, swinging as if no amount of rain
Could dislodge or cause worry.
This appearance of appearance,
All a post-apophatic canticle whose
Cataphatic theology un-limits
The limitation of unlimitedness
Still, I cannot be certain
That this tenth bull girl's glance
Was actually the harbinger
Of springtime in fall.
Certainly, it turns
To itself in the simplest regard,
Implying no complexity or need,
No theoria or praxis,
But rather a source of all things
In nonorigination
That unutterable straight forwardness
Which is the form of prayer called
All Things
All Things
All Things
All Things
Some leaves have turned
While others cling to summer
Even as light moves
Across the branch's hoar frost.
I am not sure
What was meant or even
If meaning was implied
By her glance.
Still, springtime returned to my step. (to my step)
Still, springtime returned to my step. (to my step)
Still, springtime returned to my step.
Credits
Writer(s): Just A Tourist, Priya Tsomo
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
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