where is the still point
where the quest both begins and ends?
when is the quickening moment
when all is remoulded and retold?
the bird sings across the centuries
the bow on the string
the final note that soars and trembles
before silence sweeps in
like a wave caressing the shore
o when will it be told
today’s death toll?
when will it be sighted
the countless, nameless ones
desperate to clamber
a vanished point, no horizon
to herald nearness or belonging
or outstretched arms
but home – love has flown
tonight the wind whispers low
follow, go fast after
until you too rise
given in the taking
taken in the giving
where is the place that glows long after
everyone is gone?
when is the grieving moment to be lifted
from your arms and tossed into the light?
when is the darkness to be swallowed
by impending day?
silent wisdom stands a while
and traces her fingers around the edges of sleep
who could have know how solace would come
whilst wide awake and in such pain
and it becomes possible at last
to write a document of lightness and grace
create a symphony of one breath?
trembling in the evening breeze
the loss you thought incalculable
is counted in quietness
as the mist of self clears
it was as if music filled the bodies
of all the dead
and the sun rose
the sea spread out
a carpet of deep blue
the hills rise proud
above all else
the artist dives down
and reaches up
as strength fails
and light increases
and sorrow falls
the rain comes in season
for fruit to be borne
and hunger to fade
with the growing dawn
6 July 2013