by J.B. Toner
~For Neil V.
With elasticity and bliss
The free vicissitudes of life,
Like pyrotechnic fires in hec-
tic gyres of ecstasy and strife,
Project in dire and reckless choirs
The fecund hieroglyphics rife
With lissome glee, duplicity,
And brisk esprit of drum and fife,
It seems. The hills watch. Streams and rills
Run. Green grass fills the fields. Old stone
Still waits through slow years. States rise, grow,
Fall. Great things go by so fast down
Below, where fate must flow on, straight
On. No man late or quick has known
This thrill: the dream of will supreme
The hills have seen in us alone.
Each chosen act now glows as fact—
Time’s frozen track, Eternity
Shall blend and fuse, the end made new,
Crescendo-music formed and free,
Our puny ken assuming then
Its true potentiality.
The black wind blows. Stones crack. Time goes.
Choose. Act. Do. So say the hills. Be.
Image: Molly Engel is a Philadelphia native who lives in Portland, Oregon where she works as a nurse at OHSU Hospital. When not at school or the hospital, she likes to eat donuts, play with her cats, and climb with friends at the local bouldering gym. She has been taking pictures since she was 13, and after an introductory photography class in college, she fell in love with 35mm film. Find her work on Instagram @mollyonfilm.
