Hesitation stains the simplest decision,
Pollutes the act, shifts from inspiration to simple change
In channel, certitude to hope for better days. The range
Of possibilities is moot whatever the vision,
Redeemed as ancient memory of former families
And tribes, the atavistic residue of where the birth
Took place and who was there and whose the girth
And majesty of just another baby born. Anomalies
Aside, the most of us are prey to our own crowns,
Accidents and interjections owned
Alike by all who claim to be the authors of life. What credits honed
In tight and manicured bouquets, these clubs, these ancient mounds
Of rust whom spades erect in the wake of hoards that diamonds
And hearts evoke and to which they pander as they might while
a wounded earth supports them all in silence, ironic in demand for answers
Where there are none; pressing the fruits of satisfactions
Where arbitrary rule and random infractions
Decree egregious loss to one and rampant cancers
To the other. Future’s fortunes cloud the present
Before its suns have risen and well after they have set.
No substitution, no antidote, no fond expectation met,
The spectre of foolishness binds assent
To retribution and beginnings to the covenant’s
Descent. Turn away, then, from the brilliance of a single moon
And face the day’s most patient sun, the countenances of June
In the deeps of winters’ vast eternities. With sun and moon now relevant,
Every least affinity leads to forgone closure and the sometime petitioner to rest
With his secret ever esoteric in this world and patently obvious in the Next.

Sculpture by Diane Neglio…

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