Opening Night’s Doors by Marguerite Guzman Bouvard

Evenings the Mt. Blanc displays its lights,
deep rose blazing, a strip of pure gold
rising above the darkness, when our world

is silenced, and we are reminded
that its dimension is no taller than
the grass, and our passage is brief.

The mountain’s language is that
of eagles and hawks, the crash of water
over rocks. Yes, there are airplanes

roaring above, but only for a minute
and minutes are all we have
and must learn to cherish. They fill

the emptiness that can assault us when we least
expect it, the shadow of loneliness,
the memory of the child that graced

our arms, the person who was able
to see what lies beneath our silence,
a sudden burst of understanding.

May each moment be filled
with love and the passion that guides
us for they are our mountains.


One thought on “Opening Night’s Doors by Marguerite Guzman Bouvard

  1. ericamilesx

    Beautiful poem with a circular construction, wonderful images imprinting themselves on the mind, so deep the thoughts that the poem will not be quickly erased in the chaos that often follows a meditative reading.



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