In the blood
Entities are moving
Elaborate forms
Melting away resistance
Like trees raising their arms
By innate design
Toward light and warmth
The point of seasons
Moving through our lives
Change and rhythm
Stillness and motion
Winter's essence
Seems to me the crest of suffering
Consider my estrangement
More than thirty-four years
Since the last kiss
But some day
He will pass me the cup again
Until that sacred Spring
I don’t measure the drifts of white
Just step through them
To find the path
2 comments:
Really like the way this mindful poem builds, Stirling, going from the universal to the personal. Samsara of the seasons of the heart.
"Samsara of the seasons of the heart." That's it, John! You always understand the kernels of my poetry (and probably all poetry). What a gift. Thanks!
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