He stands by a window.
A flock of starlings
settles among the tight black buds of a bare tree.
Then, like black buds unfolding,
they open their wings;
black notes in music.
He becomes aware that he is watching them with pleasure:
that something almost extinct,
some small gesture towards the future,
is ready to welcome the spring;
in some spare, desperate way
he is looking forward to Easter,
the end of Lenten fasting,
the end of penitence.
There is a world beyond this black world.
There is a world of the possible...
He sees it; then he doesn't.
The moment is fleeting.
But insight cannot be taken back.
You cannot return to the moment you were in before.
...... ...... ......
Actually not a poem. A beautifully written paragraph (which I've restructured) from Wolf Hall, Hilary Mantel's novel about Thomas Cromwell and the intrigues, betrayals and political shenanigans of the Tudor Court. It describes the inner change of worldview and self-determination in Thomas Cromwell, as he moves finally from grief at the death of his family from plague, to a much more hopeful attention to his own future. His star is on the ascendant and he begins to sense it without yet fully understanding it. He has discovered the world of the possible.
This is historical fiction of exceptional standard - recreating the early modern world, Renaissance and Reformation Europe, and the reverberations across Christendom of Henry the VIII's obsession with producing a male heir. Reading this one slowly.