Barrier

What keeps the night still? The grassy surface

of Far Field, hypnotized snow. He recalls one

witless childhood, now over him or above him.

He waits for something to reach him, a cupful

green of Spring, golden dreams of Autumn.

Across the aged barrier, some morbid shades of

mortal thoughts, once innocently held, take place

again. Breeze burnishes in momentary promises.

Forest rushes into the sea. Amidst the waves,

He is his own sailor, majestically drifts away.

Among these descendents of the rain, he climbs,

sometimes sways down, like a ripple, traveling

onwards and outwards, to his perfect hour

of loneliness. There is no fiasco for a ripple.

The lightness of non-being forbears all things.

 2004-10-30