This Is The Hour
read by r. nemo hill
The herons turn towards home, their course
unfailing.
Below them, miles of earth grow dim and still—
for the wind
has fallen, and the light is trailing
not far behind—
Though hardly
visible
the switched-on garden lamps already wait
for moths who’ll spin
for them bewildered halos;
as the blue of the sky darkens to wet
slate,
and the first few bats swoop through the open windows.
This is
the hour when a falling leaf or flower
drops straight down to the ground
with a light, lost tap.
This is the hour when the body cedes its power
to
those shadows it is now too weak to cast.
And the mist—if it
rises—
and the dark—as it falls—
are alive, and alert,
each a potent
companion
for any man who finds himself
alone.
(Petulu,
Bali—1997)
© Seth Fitts
R. Nemo Hill, is the author of a novel, Pilgrim’s Feather
(Quantuck Lane Press, 2002), a narrative poem, The Strange Music of
Erich Zann (Hippocampus Press, 2004), and a chapbook, Prolegomena To An
Essay On Satire (Modern Metrics, 2006). Forthcoming
from Seven Towers in 2010 is are a mock epic riff on Alexander Pope and a
conversation with Lord Byron, A Gumbo Abandoned & A Yeast
Reversed. His poetry and fiction have appeared in various
print and online journals including Poetry, Sulfur, Smartish Pace,
Measure, 14 by 14, Shit Creek Review, The Chimaera, Literary Bohemian, Ditch,
Umbrella, and Big City Lit. He lives in New York City, but travels
frequently to Southeast Asia. his travel blog can be accessed at rnemohill.typepad.com
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