How Many…
Common moments of uncommon beauty

How many? How many fishermen Have sailed through shoals of killing mist To reach their beds and take their fish? Alone. Alone, the sea enfolds them, Holds them like a mistress.
How many? How many mothers grieve For soldier sons who’ve fought their last? They want to know, but they can’t ask. The sons. The sons, their countries steal them, Yield them up in martyrs’ casks.
How many? How many moments rare On snow-capped slope or sun-drenched cay Embrace your soul as if to say, “Look up. Look up, the sky is faceless,” Faithless, you must learn to pray.
How many? How many children scoff At businessmen in pinstripe suits Who seek The Word but not The Truth? They try. They try, but cannot reach us, Teach us how to share their youth.
And how many poets would suffer or sin To capture them all on the points of their pens?
Jim Dutton © 2021
