To Coleridge

The morning sun bursts through the maple’s leaves
Illuminating spiders’ silver webs.
The hosta and rose I can now perceive
Are woven together. As the dawn ebbs
The glittering unifying cords fade
From perception. I smile. Perception!
Perception is Imagination’s bondmaid.
Is She a projection¬–a deception?
Or the echoes of a creative light
That require a lifetime for my eyes
To reckon with, to befriend, to delight?
I catch glimpses. My perception belies
The truth. And yet, light still calls to light
From Eden’s dawn to my dimmed inner sight.

This poem was inspired by Malcolm Guite’s discussion of Coleridge’s distinctions between fancy and imagination. That discussion can be found here, around 33:15.