Beyond Tomorrow, Yesterday

Beyond tomorrow, yesterday still dances
willfully into our lives; in reams of momentary
memories, still left unspoken and thus unexpressed.
We dream of days of happiness that merely seem
extinct; love scheming still, its path through every
heart; until all we are, remains within a single
particle – this pureness of the life of love in being.

The sun breaks through, as clouds are strewn
in ever changing patterns that belie each solid,
solitary form. They meet, becoming one, then
draw apart again, never quite the same as what
they were. Sometimes they clash and thunder,
rumble; mere warning of impending storms to come.
But then an unexpected wish of wind blows in
and rushes them into a quick departure.

Oh, to be the grass that grows so easily beneath
all feet, rooted solidly in earth while surrounded by
support. A blade within a long-grown family that
lives in harmony; it seems to be beyond destruction.
Bending in the wind; trimmed time and time again by
metal blades, but never bleeding its essential
life away.

Hear the birdsong, joyously reporting all the
heraldry of spring; advancing as an angel will,
invisibly – and yet we feel the essence of its
presence, as sight and sound is changed into
the prescience of divine sublimity.

It’s a perfect springtime day. Sunbeams dancing
on the ripples of the pond, so brightly paced
and spaced, they draw me near. The soft grass
beckons me to have a seat and just enjoy
the show. The wind blows – oh, glistening
crescendo of a sight! Of a sudden then, the
tears run out my eyes to only trail down
my cheeks, in memory of times that you and I
once shared. I simply allow them to be, even as
I tell my favorite trees of your sudden, inexplicable
departure. They murmur in a soothing song
of great empathic understanding, easing more
this unspeakable pain in my heart.

These trees, they are so intimately familiar with
the sorrow of departures. So many seasons have
they gained and lost again this way. The willows
weep in their majestic, magic sway of branches
and of leaves – with me. The poplar tree, towering
high above the rest, rustles all its leaves in
symmetry – just now, for me. The strength of warm,
dry wind ascends, amending the path of tears, too
dear to just be wiped away. And still, the sparkling
dance of sprites goes on in ever moving fantasy.

When there, within the pond, not far from shore,
I notice how a large and long-dead carp decays
himself into the living water. Scales lost, his
glamour taken, skin sways away within the gentle
movement of the tide. Muscles through the ribs
are seen, as if a mass of straw-like hair, within a
still slack gathering of motion. One open eye
stares up into the sky – the other keeping peace
with all that is most deep. A cartilage, once
kingly fin, announces still its dignity in death.
Every ripple brings its ultimate assent to
moving on, as the head bobs up and down,
just nodding ever over in a gesture of pure yes.

It seems death must be much easier somehow,
than these returns of our departure; while
beyond tomorrow, yesterday still dances back
into our lives again...

? Michaelette ?

Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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