Ephram Pratt—Illustrative of Drifting…Drifting
Ephram Pratt—Illustrative of Drifting…Drifting
by Jack e Lorts
From the top
of the tallest tree
in the forest,
hear the sound
of leaves growing,
of leaves casting shadows,
of falling to earth
in silence.
Let the silence
drift into the
surrounding air,
into the rocks of joy
on black mountains
covered by
fateful green dust
of a billion year silence.
Touch it all
with frozen fingers,
lifting into
a cross stitched anger,
drifting,
drifting.
Seems serene, with a vast perspective of the seasons (“of leaves growing, of leaves casting shadows, of falling to earth”) and eons (“fateful green dust of a billion year silence”), a perpetual “drifting” downwards, yet also elevating (“lifting”), but of “frozen fingers…into a cross stitched anger” countering the previous “rocks of joy on black mountains.” So what we may be talking about here is death, decay: “fateful green dust” covering everything in ultimate “silence.” Maybe the anger is “cross stitched” with joy, but the poet by directing us to “touch it all” indicates that is “with frozen fingers,” we being dead or deadened ourselves and resenting this aspect of life.