Credo

CREDO

by David Solway


In the workaday light
the sun, like a blacksmith,
leaves its hammer print
on the cliffside,
and at night
when all is cool and placid
stars are flashing like knitting needles,
busy at their constellations.
Nothing is ever idle here.
Not even quince and oleander
burning their sabbath incense,
nor hedges of morning glory
bearing trays of purple cups
big enough to drink from,
not even the cat who wobbles by
like a fishing boat
with a full cargo of kittens,
not even the cobblestones
that save up warmth for the evening.


David Solway is the author of (1997).


The Atlantic Monthly; March 1998; Credo; Volume 281, No. 3; page 98.


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