John Grey


I may not find in this icy window
one uncorrupted face,
one clear passage from image to architect
standing apart
from eye to mouth.

It was surely an exaggeration on my part
and yet,
since I have known you,
for a second, a minute, an hour.
your lifetime makes no excuses,
merely peers unstained
out at an impure world.

I look at you here,
always in isolation,
never to be doubted,
prospering so selflessly
like spring foliage
or the honing of a silvery sea rock.

Even doing nothing more
than making your own image,
you thrive.
For your world’s an accidental mirror.
Time floats in and out.

© John Grey 2021

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Orbis, Dalhousie Review and Connecticut River Review. Latest book, Leaves on Pages is available through Amazon.