Chris Lewis Gibson

Heliotrope Chris Lewis Gibson

This is the end of this particular offering. Last summer, around this time, I began writing poems again, partly because someone asked me to, but also because I needed to make a very long offering, an act of contemplation and worship. After years of not writing poetry, four works, one for each season, would be offered up, and at last, this is done. I look for more to say, but most of what is to be said is in the pages beyond, so without further ado-I mean, who ever needed ado?-as I have offered the poems of the hot summer, the waiting autumn, and the strange winter, so now I offer this volume of the even stranger spring of the year two thousand and twenty in which not only did flowers spring and trees blossom, but riots, abuse and poverty, plague and all the fruits of our foolishness come to bloom, and all through it was the life and beauty and power of this earth that always remains and that shall remain even if we do not.