Counterpoint

Sense of Life Objectivists

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Counterpoint
by John Paul Sherman

In the darkness,
In the ashen heart of true night,
In the cold, with the rain coming on,
       I have prospered.

Delivered to strong silence
At an early age,
Made presents of winds airless,
Numbing, unaimed,
        I raised a kite of song.

Nimbus and nebulae -- what are they now?
Ocular needle, arcing outbound,
Think of the thread
        I have yet to play out.

        Taut as a bowstring,
        Think of the sound!

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