“May it be a light to you in dark places, when all other lights go out.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
rain has returned to the foothills of the Catskill Mountains
the skies weep for the end:
the end of June
the end of this metaphysical moment
together in written form–
beautiful;
call and response
“you?”
“me?”
“us?”
we.
thirty–
thirty days
(almost) thirty nights—
thirty nights if you count the 31st before June 1st
delivered more than an empathetic heart (that mirrors another)
can hold;
storms brewing
clouds drifting
waves breaking
moon(s) rising
Milky Way swirling
earth spinning
soul stirring
euphoria.
it’s a wish granted in time that the gods have provided
–one would say the timing is too late,
and another would say, it’s happening now and in real time, as it should–
how could the wish-maker know then:
written on composition notebook paper
after a devastating heartache
placed in a wooden box with sunflower carvings
gifted from a friend who blessed it with incantations from an ancient ritual–
is happening in real time:
decades later, without warning
reigniting embers from a dim burn to a full, magnificent inferno
setting ablaze primal instincts
passion, and raw desire,
to melt the icy refrain long echoed along Saturn’s spinning rings
and the one who wished could not believe this truth
but it is not up to truth to decide its might;
in wicker chairs
in throaty voices
in perennial permissions
in wistful whispers
on printed pages curling in the breeze
on lectern spine pressing tome spine
in envious waves crashing against the shore
in photos that do not yet exist becoming exposed out of frame,
it simply exists, as we do
now
in this finite eternity–
the time is (de) constructed
the time that constrains
the time that is a curse and a treasure
like poems that etch themselves beneath skin
and become the balm for aching bones
to rest in summer’s light,
to bury itself beneath autumn’s crisp colors,
to sleep soundly in winter’s snowy cover,
to rejuvenate in spring’s warmth knowing
that truths:
in belief
in hope
in desire
in all that is what it means to exist here,
now
will transcend time
and keep hurricane lanterns flickering in the darkness
for those kindred spirits sailing
in ghost ships, in seas forgotten,
to look to and to know
belief
hope
desire
existence here that is real–
always.
