Poetry Corner #33

Anaphora
     By: Elizabeth Bishop

Each day with so much ceremony
begins, with birds, with bells,
with whistles from a factory;
 such white-gold skies our eyes
first open on, such brilliant walls
that for a moment we wonder
'Where is the music coming from, the energy?
 The day was meant for what ineffable creature
we must have missed? ' Oh promptly he
appears and takes his earthly nature
      instantly, instantly falls
      victim of long intrigue,
      assuming memory and mortal
      mortal fatigue.

More slowly falling into sight
and showering into stippled faces,
darkening, condensing all his light;
 in spite of all the dreaming
squandered upon him with that look,
suffers our uses and abuses,
sinks through the drift of bodies,
sinks through the drift of classes
to evening to the beggar in the park
who, weary, without lamp or book
      prepares stupendous studies:
      the fiery event of
      every day in endless
      endless assent.

DFTBA Have  a wonderful weekend :)
-Janussa