revision

"I hope you feel nicer"

Baby boy, blue eyes; and
beauty stopped by on the doorstep.
Came by, "au revoir, good night, good
times... "

Age is heavy, sometimes, like a coat, and for what we know
we hide in our deepest pockets
a shattered watch with a disabled, swinging latch
from that moment, those moments, time, chance,
and redemption
flew away from us
defeated by the sound of Earth.

We are the harrow upon such foundations, of which we still seek some origin.
Arid, some parts, drenched, some others, and full of fruit,
only beyond the horizon of our weighted shoulders,
but we do not look back. Never look back.

Destiny is soiled when these sodden hands
reach for seeds from tortured wallets, but dear, oh dear,

all great things,

however finite or eternal, infinitesimal or cosmic
have grown from the dirt, and from
good, lukewarm time.

Fear is for the present, it does not exist in the past or in the morning.
And for the six feet we have dug ourselves,
the only thing we can find on the other side
is sunshine.

Funny, what you say,
once the door is closed.