The Glorious Day

The day has been glorious
the sun shone oblivious,
hot and generous.  The
cool air of Spring is
cleansing, freeing, deep
breaths.  Birds criss-
cross before me twittering.
My mother lies at peace
over the wooded hill -
the dark deep wound
of absence silted-over
by my grey dust of time,
the fleeing years.  Sun
slowly disappears behind
the hill trees, my cool
wine is sweet on the tongue.
The river spills and splashes
rushing to fall, over stones and boulders, sending
cool vapours up the gorge.
I am placed on the grass,
wicker chair, sore, sore
after a day of body-bends,
walks, doings.  She is not
here but my love is
and it endures.  Solitude
and silence, I observe
the Hours as best I can.
Ruined house, no cleaning,
I am out, out, away
drenched in sun and birds
and song, earth in my
hands and peace
after the long trail.  Thursday
the twelfth of April two
thousand and eighteen,
a tiny day of bursting
sun, a quiet heart,
and freedom.  The evening
cools and the mountains
turn blue.  Here I am, Lord,
one tiny being:  I made it
back here, to release,
to prevailing against
all odds, to anamnesis
and my basket is full.

previous poem

next poem