“The Minute Stands”
The minute stands, my soul does not oppress
Its hours in conference rooms, nor press neighbours close
Upon my door, nor do trusts for futures, expectations, hopes
Of lasting curb the armies of my arrogance; I am at rest.
Because I love my soul, no lasting fears breed
Wantonly because I house beside an ever-running stream
Of waters several purified within a plethora of dreams,
In potent, proper cadences and rhymes descending through the reeds
And rocks from all my memory’s distant melting mountains. Glaciers
Of pieties’ states release potencies passing to the very porch of my door
And gone, and on to others. Yes, the raging rains are there for
Correction, yes, but clouds, never trespassers; diamonds, ever placing
Galaxies in my hands. My outbuildings are full, the harvests good;
And through it all, gain and loss, my soul rejoices as it should.