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
I knew the wolf
To be a wolf
But in the forest
He was kind to me
So did not think
To give a shout
Let Grandma know
Wolf was about
April fool, tis me
No fool
The Woodsman, he
Fortunately
Or for dessert
Wolf would have had
Me
Cropped and framed
Colour corrected and edited
Burnished and patinaed
To make a picture
That tells the story
I wish to remember
Sometimes
You don’t quite
Get it right
But it’s OK
To get it mostly right
Or at least somewhat right
Just so long
As you’re
In the right
Now those
Outside the walls
Were not privy
To the intricacies
Within them
Because those
Inside the walls
Were apathetic
To the intricacies
Beyond them
Until the time came
When the intricacies
Beyond the walls
Galvanized
Into a single blunt force
Which felled first the walls
Then the delicate intricacies
Within them
Then soon I saw
Another star
Another then
Now several more
The mother bear
Who points the way
To guiding light
Now clears the sky
The night reveals
A sky of lights
Infinite
And always there
Beyond the clouds
Or light of day
The lights of suns
Doors shut and barred
Windows sealed from within
A dead end
At the end
Of a narrow
Corridor
No retreat
No respite
No redress
Then a door opened
Beckoning
The voices within
Sang songs of hope
And possibility
Of healing
And renewal
Beyond the door
The way remained unclear
But the long, dark night
Of the alley
Was over
A nook
An alcove
A cranny
A safe place
To hide away
While the unthinkable
Becomes inevitable
When the architecture
Makes a passenger jet
Lifting into the sky
Seem like an anachronism
From a time passed
So very long ago…
Pix to Words 