Sunday, October 23, 2016

it is all a myth

and wherever you are
the sun rises and it falls

when you see the galloping hours
flee before you     thinking you have forever

you tiptoe through the corridor
afraid to open each door   or leap over the gaps in real

but don't be shy
take the time to understand your life

it is all a myth        time runs out
like water from a broken cup

and your thirst will be hard upon you
everything dries up and the bones stand out in sharp relief

and you  might think that this day is minor
that the walk through the forest     is simple work

but really it is all sacred
the leaves that flow    in the river towards the beaver's trap

the silken boughs that silver with moss gloves
the tripping steps of the fungus that has built a ladder

to nowhere
as do we all

here is the day like a cage
that you fill with dollars and dimes

counting each moment
for the duties done and checked off

the list of indeterminate ventures
and projects that say who you are

but again I tell you
it is all a myth

repair yourself
the hours bullock in the fields

and the grasses rip their pages
to pieces       and the slow snow slips off the cover of the land

nothing lasts
not even the children we leave behind

the liver of the day is eaten in small dishes
and death is a soldier warring before you

all the children are leaping like frogs off the pad of home
and the dusky complexion of the dawn has vanished to a sickly hue

here is the night
with the clapping stars        the moon opens her door to smile

and far away the crows wheel the highway of sunset
the fir tree dims her glow   and it is slow

Scattered and Small

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