Some stanzas from The Force of Desire by William Bronk. (1979)
The slow, slow light in the winter sky
this very early morning assures us the world
is not the actual world. Never was.
The longing for God, in its intensity,
shares and suggests the power and intensity
of God's longing. And it is - but not for us.
The morning door is open to the outer world;
the pleasure of edges, clear shapes and names.
Its air is the sharp pain of your seperateness.
In human nature we look not for ourselves
But for what is there. We may be a clue
Though it is not certain. We know about false leads.
if it has one. What has a form of its own
or, having, is only it? There is truth.
If our day-lives mattered at all, no
matter that we dream; but they don’t and the dream
is the life as if it mattered, as we dream it may.
There are some writings about Bronk's poetry here: