these are the falling years
they will go deep and remember
how they flew the ecstatic moments
and returned to a nourishing earth
and what they never knew they invented

caressed by a wind stirring their deepest sleep
they walk the paths of earth
step by step   stone by stone
until parachutes of light announced the dawn

youth was once a gift they could afford to lose
but now as the moments spin retreats
every day is strung
and restrung like broken beads

the storehouse of the past guards
the silken clefts of the body
the straight secret of the spine
the winged scapulae
with their recurrent hints of flight
and the blind hours before dawn to midnight’s blaze

the heart recalls
the suddenness of trees
and flawless entrance of morning light
spring blooms and impermanent buds
flowers so fragile and generous
willing to fade
giving way to the fruits of summer

ripe and bursting to bloom
the juice flowing from within
and the rich life reaching down to the roots again

Ruth Daigon | Mudlark No. 25
Contents | A Crack in the Lens