Not Yet

Not Yet

                    Art is at first nothing, then something.

                                                        —William Stafford

              

A blank page, blank mind,

then something made in Japan—

a blossom, a bell.

Or if it’s winter,

a Solitaire’s rusty song

swings the gate open.

Snow falls.  Six stars find

their way through fog.  When the rain

stops, a prism arcs

its promise across

the sky:  this year will not be

the last, not yet, but

later everyone

will join the stars, and every

tree will start to sing.

                              —Donnell Hunter

                                        24 January 2012