The particles made their pulse
and the side of positive
assuaged the opposite negative,
“It is time to wave.” spoke Impulse.
His weary eyes need to feed the mind;
wondering by seeking the dormouse
who lives there – near the old farmhouse.
In the moraine - where mother’s flowered blouse
changes and is changing everything in every way
while in the mind it remains the same byway.
There by the old wooden gate - a white rabbit;
the defiant lake sits so still – quietly,
nary a ripple to note waves of tranquility.
His way is old, while his mind converses gently,
“Why the path will end where it began – satiety”.
And he gathers himself. He collects the panoramic scenes
Of the long horizon that now approaches his time;
a fence line runs by the abandoned barn - in between.
Frame by frame, a kinetoscope story in rhyme
retelling of life approaching the vanishing point
as hesitant steps near a path that says: Wrong Way.
He says to the hawk and to the mourning dove,
“I have been this way – always, always gathering more love”.
He says to the wind, “until tomorrow concedes
and it becomes today – I will know where it leads”.
On the other side of the other side
Crossing bridges that sit aging in the narrow
path along the way and too, crossings of harrow
that is in the mind and just as suspended.
As a breath, just before the last second has ended,
Whispers, “remember me today and tomorrow”.
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