Unpublished Poetry Series: The Bowl-Carver
The Bowl-Carver
Closeness of the night,
Figure of what is intimate,
Turn the strange effects
Of elusive image to dreams
We shall never keep,
And beauty of the eye unfolds
From all misfortune,
Through measure of love, or fairer
Sort of sight attained,
A hope that in despondent mind
Memory will see
The action missed. All things are made
By revealing space
Where nothing was, like when the moon
Comes up, the further
As its form seems to drift away,
The night deepening
With inner light admits a joy
Seldom incomplete.
Douglas Thornton
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