Time a shard, a blissful falling of yellow leaves
Diagonally in the breeze, a whisk of dandelions,
All beauty subjective, the split image of self
Lost in the tumult of rain clouds, black and gray,
A sigh in the willow of the body, a waving, a giving way.
Time a song, violins and trumpets, the hollowing away
Of the false image, the one we put on like a mask.
There are a million ways we don’t get what we want.
This journey, no wood, no dark path of matter,
No emptying only emptying. The eyes closed
And we learn to listen? The wind bringing winter,
The first snow fall, give into it now.
Time a knife, a sunset pink and billowing,
The day a new resurrection, and we are reborn
As the sky, reborn as the blackbirds and robins.
Time a shard, a blissful whisper of leaves pattering
In the wind. All is landscape, the internal organs
Dark in their holy places, and we are but moments
Strung together in image and sound. Tactile
Hallucinations, the river inside your palm
Measures time. The glistening winter that tells us
Death is near and cold and possibly beautiful,
The ugly losses weighing us down, the way we can’t see
Our downfall even in the midst of falling.