Sunday, March 3, 2013
Where Shuddered Mystery Breaks its Fast
Come to my face sunning sky,
tease this arm faint breeze
like you do the trees.
I have a song that won’t let loose,
it clings to the inner branch
I’ve sighed long
as the moon watched
and showed me how to change
a little every night.
“Soon the door will open
and tomorrow will be here”,
the nagging minutes whisper.
All's right, says my inner ear.
I am neither afraid nor out of date,
my stamp of time is faded,
not made of clay.
Bright, what road this one,
dappled light or shade
or filled with sun?
I’ll take the one in weep of tree,
where holes are made in dirt light free.
Each step I’ll place within the path
where shuddered mystery breaks its fast
and lets me know the way at last.