Archive
05/17/09 - (1)
Reliquary
Eight months have passed Way too rapidly for recognition to calculate their velocity, Elapsed, faded, changed into memory vapors Drifting out of vision, above my aging landscape. They've taken my senses' lamentations with them.
Now, it's mid-May of a new year, And my spirit is back here, dwelling, for five days, In this familiar cabin touching the shore of Lake Nebagamon, To which, more and more urgently, I return, for succor, When nothing in my other life satisfies my craving for quiet.
This Sunday morning under the sunny welkin Is void of sound, save for resonations from a church bell Beckoning parishioners to worship And the frenetic calls of two mated-for-life loons Paddling across the surface of the churning water.
And perhaps it's not silence, at all, I'm trying to find, So much as time's reliquary, in which to place, for safekeeping, My soul's holy scrolls — Poetic reflections on the mysteries of epiphany and ecstasy, The deepest yearnings of my unaging imagination.
05/17/09 - (1)
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