Lead, Lights
Heading home, I rode my bicycle along
one of the fields of childhood at dusk,
gazing over fenced-in, knee-high wheat
at the lights of the Benson farm, and felt
something like a hidden immensity
rise within and beyond myself, at once
both yearning and fulfillment. Now
I wonder if such visitations
are only limited neuronal
explosions, fully measurable,
entirely explainable,
just the brain’s occasional
beautiful fireworks, streamers
of colored lights doomed
to fade to black. But here’s
a star on the wooded horizon,
and another, and my wheeling
heart persists, as if light from
a distant house, any
bright star slowly rising
might still lead it home.
.
F.W. “Skip” Renker has recent poems in Presence, Leaping Clear, and The Awakenings Review. His poems have appeared in numerous journals as well as the Atlanta Review, Poetry Midwest, and Passages North anthologies, and he has a Pushcart Nomination. His books are Birds of Passage (Delta Press), Sifting the Visible (Mayapple Press), and Bearing the Cast (St. Julian Press). He lives with his wife Julia Fogarty in the beautiful lakefront town of Petoskey, MI.
Amethyst Review 