a reply to Yeats
Turning and turning, the widening spiral winds home;
the falcon hears the falconer after all.
Things lean together; the center always held:
it was never out on the rim where the fearful look.
The blood-dimmed tide goes out, and everywhere
the ceremony of the ordinary is blessed:
the worst grow tired of their passionate noise,
and the best, who only doubted, lift their heads.
Surely a kindness is already here;
surely the second He comes is already at hand.
The second He comes, and soft are those words out,
for no beast slouches up from the desert sand.
A shape with a child’s body and the face of everyone
turns a gaze as warm and patient as the dawn,
and moves its slow glad hands, while all about it
the indignant birds come down and learn to sing.
The darkness lifts again; and now we know
that twenty stubborn centuries of sleep
were only waiting on a rocking cradle,
and what bright Love, its hour come round at last,
is born again in all who let it in.
Rob Chavez June 6, 2026
© 2026 Rob Chavez. All Rights Reserved.