Sonnets from the New World

BEAUTY


Sometimes unexpectedly, unbidden,
Beauty comes. Not a downpouring of doves,
Not a Venus, sheathed in an ivory shell,
Not even the lenses of Stonehenge in its season—
Stones aligned to catch the sun as it moves
Mystically, majestically, through holes
And crevices.
Not even these spectaculars—
The light against the dark, the white ecstatic,
Stars falling and setting the sky on fire—
Take possession, or let the moment take
The horse high over the hedge with an unseen rider.

It comes when least expected, when the dark
Opens a crack to let light filter in—
A word, a look, a sudden realization.

— David George



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