We have lived a wealth of years.
Seconds ago, we were children
and picked apples
more than we could hold or store
as though to hide them
where nature never thought
to change us. Everything that mattered
raced ahead, left us with dust or ash.
Yet rising on the tide
seasons and sun sang in a chorus
of stem, petal, and stamen.
Roses rioted beneath closed eyelids
where red flowed below
autumn’s warm occasion
floated on a fluid vision
filled the hollow of loneliness.
Overeager sun did not know
when to dim the torch.
Fire never left us.
Uncontrolled and passionate
conflict consumed, destroyed
exposed reality. Night
captured all color to shut out truth
which trembled in winter
waited for us to free it.
Some will rock in a chair
watch for order to return home
from the world of extraordinary chaos.
Others will milk light from dark
silver the first glow in the window
feed white to the east
until dawn is born.