To be there, pull back the veil of spring
I am a fool to want that, it comes on its own
Like the weather, unmindful of urging
The thaw in the peaks, the spill of the river.
It all happens for the first and last time
Azaleas, forsythia from the bowels of earth
Lighting the brain, life giving, quickening —
And will this be all, will it be over
This cold flame that moves me, will it ignite
Illuminate a form in which “I” take root again
In the sacred and obscene, birth and death
One stunning blow to what reason leaving me
Gracefully powerless, imprisoned in bone?
Sun warming river rocks, teasing willow tips…
I cease thinking, stop turning

impossible stone

Awake were time and space do not prevail
Breathing, breathing, the vanishing veil.

Photograph “That Tree” by Mark Hirsch.

copyright_symbol_11Photo of Deer is by Rayn Roberts