It always seems to be lit,

The candle I need in my life,

Even when I am not sure who is carrying it for me,

Or when they will say or do the right thing.

Which I need at this moment.

 

 

 

The new life awaits,

Not sitting in the bottles, rather inside,

Bursting to reveal itself,

Love captured in a way which only can be understood,

By feeling, not in words.

 

These expressions of the heart.

Littered around the floor,

The materials from a hundred projects is laid out,

Perfectly imperfect.

Perhaps it does not look so bad to me,

Sort of a lovely disorganization,

A ready-made list of things to do for the day.

 

Let me look at the chaos for a moment or two.

 

My cable seems to be at breaking point again; but I am strong.

I can take a little more weight,

Even though I am running out of places to tie the wire,

Perhaps one more time.

 

However, like the swan, I appear strong and smooth,

Holding up what needs holding,

Seemingly indestructible and able to embrace forever,

To all those around me.

 

Such is the strength given to me to prevail … for one more day.

 
The clatter of the loom can still be heard,

If you listen carefully sounds of ancient voices and small paychecks opening can be heard,

Only to be turned in at the local hostelry,

Or at a grocery store on a cold walk home.

 

All that remains are the floors and big windows,

Streaming light to save owners cash,

Until at last they have none,

As China breaks silently into all the lives of the mill.

 

Relieving poverty in one location, for new hardships in another.

The sandpaper feel is burnished by a pre-sunset glow,

Darkening the crevices and brightening the surface,

Making me feel like I am looking at a textured topping,

Applied by the confectioner just to make me notice.

 

Which he did.

 

The stillness of the river, beguiles me.

It seems to be waiting for me to out run it,

So slowly does it move,

Hardly breaking a reflection,

Or presenting a ripple to disturb its own peace.

 

And thereby keeps mine also. In a perfect harmony so lovely, it makes me uneasy.

The long walk in the woods,

This time along the riverbank,

Thirsty for rain, in the midsummer drought,

Water heads down towards the sea,

Ready to meet its salty friend.

 

Filled with stories of the river, a path, and the hills.

 

 

The tracks are out there again,

Beckoning towards me,

Saying “come forth … once again”,

Gleaming in the mid afternoon sun,

As lights on a driveway,

For a returning son.

 

Moments before, I reflect on all those thousands,

Those thousands of spikes, rails and sleepers,

Trundling in the mind of my life,

Of stations whizzed by,

And those where I disembarked,

And stayed a while.

 

Each one now as important as the other,

A glimpse, or passing smile as memorable as a lifetime spent with others,

Dreamily, souls catching some of another’s story,

And pressing it firmly into my book of life, this life,

Like a flower to be savored during cold winter nights.

When the meeting happens all over again.

 

As the million photographs suddenly burst into the room once more.

Of all whom I love.