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Sunday, November 14, 2010
October 16, 2010
Next Time
At night the geese move
high and wild
through Autumn skies
When I hear their distant calls
I imagine they’re
slipping
back
through
thin layers
of veiled time:
those cirrus clouds
backlit by the harvest moon
into
summertime.
Just suppose they know
the way back!
Next time what I’d do
from the start
is learn to trust
those routes back.
And with what dizzying motion
navigate any direction
-- summer to spring and back again
any direction
but forward
and trust those
indelible patterns
stars aligned to guide
intimacy of having been before
an old friend’s hand in mine
always
heading home.
Next Time
At night the geese move
high and wild
through Autumn skies
When I hear their distant calls
I imagine they’re
slipping
back
through
thin layers
of veiled time:
those cirrus clouds
backlit by the harvest moon
into
summertime.
Just suppose they know
the way back!
Next time what I’d do
from the start
is learn to trust
those routes back.
And with what dizzying motion
navigate any direction
-- summer to spring and back again
any direction
but forward
and trust those
indelible patterns
stars aligned to guide
intimacy of having been before
an old friend’s hand in mine
always
heading home.
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