All the Old Dreams

The day is full of eyes,
a desert of faces
the corridor crowded with weeping images
and the moon casts an icy blue light.

Our flaming origins
pushing through earth’s crust
bring us to air
and we breathe

Now morning invites us in
to examine the future
where we study
the catechism of seed, fruit, core

Through cracks in the universe
we view a world green and blameless
a drum in the desert, an eye, a window
a dialogue of light

The flawless entrance of dawn reveals
a suddenness of trees
and all the old dreams
fading to whispers

and before the nuclear dawn
I look up at the pale abundance,
the legendary space where hope remains
pure with wonder
fragrant with remembrance.

Ruth Daigon | Mudlark No. 25
Contents | And When It Comes