This arc through space and time
Thirty poems yet to write
But after this
Just twenty-nine
Some days
The words may come
As if a gift
Some days a labour
Subtler beauties missed
But still the promise: words to come
This arc through space and time
Thirty poems yet to write
But after this
Just twenty-nine
Some days
The words may come
As if a gift
Some days a labour
Subtler beauties missed
But still the promise: words to come
Circle
Unbroken
The round
Complete
Then round
And round
And round
Again
Until I step
Upon a path
Some may say
Leads me astray
And o’er it all
Arced golden steel
To celebrate
The westward move
In the way we move
On the dance floor
In the way we act
In times of tragedy
In the things we build
As monuments to significance
I try to remind myself of this
In the low moments
When I feel anything but grace
Anything but graceful
Heed artistry
Inscribe wisdom
Apply passion
Until I look again
And see the beauty
In the dilapidated
The strength
In the distressed
The resilience
In the rusted
Or was it rather
A prophecy?