David St. John

G H I P T

In the High Country

Some days I am happy to be no one
The shifting grasses

In the May winds are miraculous enough
As they ripple through the meadow of lupine

The field as iridescent as a Renaissance heaven
& do you see that boy with his arms raised

Like one of Raphael’ s angels held within
This hush & this pause & the sky’ s lapis expanse?

That boy is my son & I am his only father
Even when I am no one