Real Poem by Steven Federle
Real
I look out my window
and see what is real.
Trees, bark encrusted,
rough my hands; cool
leaves, cherry blossoms,
white and vibrant, writhe
in the bee-blurred light.
Yes, these things
are real,
and yet,
turning inward,
to our secret room,
I find you
waiting,
breathing,
real.
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
The way to find the real 'world' is not merely to measure and observe what is outside us, but to discover our own inner ground. For that is where the world is, first of all: in my deepest self. Thomas Merton. Contemplation in A World of Action
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4/29/2024 10:24:34 PM # 1.0.0.1119
