Place your mind before the mirror of eternity!
Place your soul in the brilliance of glory!
Saint Clare of Assisi
The first day of spring
comes lumbering
down the hills of winter,
across the worn grasses of oblivion;
its long fingers slanting light
over the thrumming
pulse of
blush-green.
How the horses grab for it
like the dying
for flecks of eternity
over the dark unfurling.
How shall I be the same?
The seasons' patterns
revolving
in the dust rings
of time
as the young, mounting their horses,
take up the reins of the air
between their hands
lovely in the turning:
the beginning bridling the ending;
the ending reining the beginning.
How shall I be the same?
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