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.
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
