Saturday, March 22, 2008

For Grace

Modus Vivendi
Beyond the peripity of fortunes, you were born,
Rich in time and love, your seasons framed
By the twin thrones of Sun and Moon,
By the intimate discovery of butterflies
In the green heat of wild fields,
Episodes of laughter and fireflies on a summer night,
The wind's rustle of dried leaves on autumn roads,
And the filigree of frost on a windowpane.

Linga Imperfectus
Your tongue will learn the rapture of syllables,
Anxious to describe the movement of things.
Puzzled by words that won't fit, how can you hold
A mirror up to the feeling of water slipping
Through your fingers, and the quality of air
After the rain? We will grasp your meaning
If you let it suffice to praise everything
Around the one thing that holds you in ecstacy.

Tempu Fugit
You cannot be the passive witness of time's march.
Already, the procession of days have caught
You up in their swell. Time's hands start slowly,
Gathering speed and grace as they go, and you too will learn
To avert your gaze as the hours pass, one by one,
Irretrievable, into oblivion.

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