Holding back from the full possibility of a river flooding, but simply providing a half-filled glass of water. Three? Yes, perhaps a set of magical three quatrains would work best.
From an individualistic standpoint, from this one instance, my persona is talking to himself and therefore understands the epiphany already is in the past. In other words, I need to break any potential epiphany-revealing formula to the audience. For this poem in particular, the reading-audience does not need to understand the scene immediately lends itself to a revelation. They do not need to be carried as passengers in a predictable train ride to the protagonist's ultimate resolution.
flitting around the room as a sparrow trapped in my house
But I am lying to myself. Lying to you. I have two versions of the same poem in my head. The potential to deny an epiphany and the want to reveal immediately the goals of a character, his Divine Inspiration. In other words, in the realms of the Ideal Draft, I visualize the poem’s structure as a confessional monologue for a folk hero— he needs to be recognized as such, as a Jack seeking adventure. He is aware of the process of his Journey—yet, the communication of his views of the Journey need not be as readily understood, at first.
• Fires of cypress trees in late autumn
• rust red hue / circles / foxfires / pomegranates
• the glow of rust when you stand in a copse of cypress trees, the surrounding
• Au-tum-nal: the vowels of rust / of transformation
• without angels / no fiery tongues of Gabriel
1. You will not believe—
2. pains in my chest
The poem’s purpose is doing the same thing right now, evading firm capture—flitting around the room as a sparrow trapped in my house while the New Year rains unfold outside. Too much excitement and nervous energy to contain.