The Season of Return

Now is the season of return
when morning parts its lips and light slips in.
Life turns to the colors of madrigals
flooding us in memories
a symmetry turning
a long table of recall.

This is the world made plain.
Water is slowly digesting
the rich aroma of the earth and mirrored sun.
Deep is calling to deep
as the sight soars and the eye counts.

We create ourselves
from the inched hours
and generations asleep in a mirage
with flesh full of the knowing darkness
and the plundering of time.

Ruth Daigon | Mudlark No. 25
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