Lost on the Wind
Time tangled
left unattended.
I and this mystery
trying to find a thread of reasoning,
a knit of identity,
tangled thoughts
lost on the wind.
The words of poets;
whoops, and shouts, and hollers
scraps picked up at random
soft and perishable
to call or signal over great distance,
the endless yearning
to give words to unforgettable things,
to resound through time,
to bear the report to those who come after.
The smell of a library,
the bookshelves back in gloom;
Fine handmade maps
[navigating] a river made of time
for all the shadows, dreams, and forms
of all the days of man
And among the stacked books
an incurable nostalgia.
All that vast yesterday
will be as lost as
with fire and salt,
leaving not so much as a color or syllable.
There is a limit to all things,
everything goes away.
I had walked since dawn
away from the wreckage
now lost beyond recall
and to have seen nothing
that does not want to be remembered.
The one thing which we seek
is to forget ourselves
by abandonment,
of putting out of mind
echoes of another dream,
a useless burden.
Just when it looks like winter, it is spring.
A page is about to turn.
Every moment is new,
a series of surprises.
They are incalculable.
Walking early one morning
to be surprised,
curious what will come next.
That will be enough.
collected snippets from here and there
Love this, especially in the autumn of my life❣️
Lovely! Thanks for this morning meditation.