Snowblind at Midsummer

The bleak, unhallowed call of God

comes in the nonsense calm,

comes where the quiet pitch of wind

might barely stir an inch of grass

or rouse a head of corn from stoop

black ice on the path of words

makes language inexplicable

and there the stunning blow of God

makes landfall in a silence

But call and blow are not enough

and so the freezing mist and sleet

fall out of season everywhere

On every orchard sunset bronze

and every fleet of growing corn

The weather touching in my head

defies the sense of what is there

Jon Lever is a billionaire philanthropist, Nobel laureate, and wildly implausible liar. He publishes at the-electric-dark-age-hymnal.com