Between Eclipses, between the Old Life and the New.
The rapids we descend on our way to the pool,
The waterfall on our way down.
Just another day with a crack in it,
like a favorite mug you know won’t last much longer.
Isn’t it amazing what can be born,
how birth hovers like a halo around the dead.
The leaves and dry grass of yesterday pushed aside and crumbling into dirt
as seedlings spring up.
We won’t be here for long, but don’t expect any of this to disappear,
as color burns more brightly, as the blood fades from the cheek,
what lives and dies now, it’s not a circle,
a spiral comes closer…
moving out, moving ahead, motion, and light, that spark of hope that knows despair so very well, that sleeps with hopelessness on it’s pillow, that comes close, whispers a story and the story springs to life, not all in a day, but on a day we begin, as any other, good morning, good afternoon.