Enough

A poem

We condense onto the surface of the world,

like dew drops appearing on spring lawns,

a manifestation of life’s will to continue

growing.

 

Only later to disappear

into dark loam

the emptiness of our absence

eclipsed

by new green grass.

 

This new growth, at once our legacy and,

the beauty into which we vanish.

 

Standing between them

like ornate bridgework

connecting moments to

the memories of both

the time before and that

yet to come.

 

Like an antique clock

its giant works inside

the central edifice of a clock tower

in some elegant European square

there, long have I struggled

watching the dance of wheels and cogs

levers and sections

seeking in their patterns

an understanding of myself.

 

Now I know

that I know not

what thing I am

nor finally what it is

that I am becoming.

Only that my movement, when I am true

Is joy and is in this, enough.

 

 

Reviews

[Anna]

A pleasure to read! nicely written!