Then a man pours outward And may be measured by his glories: the sudden stillnesses that solder blood and spirit and unbroken space when we know, or think we know, heaven’s secret ripplings from that hill-top Transfiguration, where proud men flung their faces in the dirt. Importance, but also hope: the sleepless longing and the quick glory that exceeds us as in love’s unforeseen opening to our unsolved past, ready to bear the pain that does not belong to us, ongoing loss reaching out behind like a thread. The earth must first receive the plow’s blade: then a man pours outward bared and blinking, yet not diminished.
Riley Mulhern is an engineer and a research scientist. He writes poetry because it makes him more alive.