These many lines
Of thought
Of action
Of possibility
Some converging
Some parallel
Some intersecting
A disorder
Of subtler
Orders
Patterns
Within patterns
Within a cross-section
Of a whole
Imperceptible
Step back
And back again
To reveal the whole
With its harmony of line
I look at myself
A blur
In the foggy mirror
Every morning
Even after washing away
Another layer
Of accumulated detritus
Like the sculptor
Finding the figure
Inside the stone
Like a cathedral
Not yet complete
A hundred years
After the passing
Of its architects
I remain a work in progress
Under construction
In this life
In the last
In the next
All that have been
And all yet to come
The ebb
Of tides and life
Reveals the glories concealed
By full flood
No matter the words you say
No matter the things you do
All paths lead to you
A golden destination
Partially concealed
In unfathomable
Possibility
I lose myself in the sea
In the sounds of the waves
Breaking against the rocks
And the subtler susurrus
Of foamy water
Climbing then falling
The shallow sandy shoreline
The tiny boats
I make from the thoughts
I no longer want to have
Recede with the dying waves
To be consumed by the surf
I prepare more
With all the parts of me
I never asked for
Or cannot be rid of
And watch as they glide gently
Into roiling oblivion
I am free
For the duration
Of an ebb tide
Soon enough
The flood comes
The inexorable sea
Returns them all to me
This flow of life
This stream of possibility
This realm of plausible hope
Where I have seen
The interplay of darkness and light
And from it learned truly
That neither is possible
Without the other
Each renders texture upon the other
While the transitions between
Reveal the greatest insights
A grey day
Light flattened
By a thick
Midday haze
Made all the more grim
By my mood
Impenetrable as the atmosphere
From full steam
To dead ahead slow
All stations stop
Close my eyes
Deep breath
Not stopped
Becalmed
Diminished light emerges
Find the blue
In sky and sea
Contrast highlight with shadow
Underway, with tranquil gratitude
A monument to
Patriarchy rises where
Emerald once was plenty
Now all grey and jaundice
I often wonder
What the world would look like
Had the matriarchs run the show
And life were of feminine design
The world moves
In its own time
And I in mine
A dance
A rhythm
Obstinate
Relentless
Cadence
Unique
To my mind’s
Perceiving
And should I not exist
To observe
As sun surrenders sky
To the stars
Would there be time
At all?
We build
Ever higher
To breach the sky
This city in the clouds
City of privilege
Where feet rarely
Touch the ground
And hearts
Rarely
Touch each other
Pix to Words 