Taking control, finally

I have been re-reading a book that JBL gave me many years ago - a collection of poems by Edna St. Vincent Millay. Many of the words strike me at my current time of turmoil, but this particular verse without a name gave me both pause and encouragement:

I will put Chaos into fourteen lines
And keep him there; and let him thence escape
If he be lucky; let him twist, and ape
Flood, fire, and demon - his adroit designs
Will strain to nothing in the strict confines
Of this sweet Order, where, in pious rape,
I hold his essence and amorphous shape,
Till he with Order mingles and combines.
Past are the hours, the years, of our duress,
His arrogance, our awful servitude:
I have him. He is nothing more nor less
Than something simple not yet understood;
I shall not even force him to confess;
Or answer. I will only make him good.

I don't yet posses the confidence in these lines, but I am willing to try it on like a hat. I have worn many others - why not this one? And it may still be cold outside, but look at this - actual grass showing:


Hope in the afternoon sunlight.