Thoroughly Alive

We must hunger after the beautiful and the good...


Asheville percolations

My foot knows every cobble,As I amble, I am part of every thought That grew these houses From the loamy earth, and curving girth Of hills, whose bellies rumble far beneath The stones that found, These nooky, olden houses, With their eaves that lean to shelter, Their lights that gleam A welcome from the blink Of brooding windows, As the bell of evening wind tolls Through the streets that ribbon softly through the trees.

Here, I wander free as all The sky-eyed souls Who bear their dreams as mounting storms, Within their faces, Yet find shelter from themselves within the grace, Of little mercies: Lace at window, Light like snow upon a crisp white table, Hours lithe and quiet, Days like cups to catch the bright, Small drips of dream, and sun, and sleep, That make a lifeboat for a soul.