Oh! the lack of light, the all-day twilight!
How can a body live through this visual misery?
Even the trees have no leaves.
And the clinging cold!

We wake to the rumbling thunder of  blood,
Pumping hearts, twisted hearts,
this shadow and I squeeze
Into the thick silences of trees.

Now the dark lights
of Christmastide, drift, flux and flicker
in this breeze of time,

Penumbra-beginning hologram-end,
my friend.
Such pungent affirmations
steer us into that which will not last.

Generations of suffering:
eyes lifted to a cross, a crescent, a menorah,
such yearnings spilt
onto the page of history:
promises made and never kept.

Reaching out of time’s descent.
In the beginning is the end
My friend.
the sacred apartness of the intelligible:
fragments in the blood,
firings in the brain, a holy place again,

This tinder-box of meaning
ebbs, flows on this tide of time.
Means to an end.

 

?