Some call it God, My Lord or Master.
Heavy the measure of justice in yesterday’s night.
Fight each reason remembering the riches
For all is of the holy cup.
I thirst. I drink.
I recall the laughter of last vacation
a month before winter.
The storm last night:
Listen to its answer in the moment of hours.
Call in the cards fanned to stretch the ages
of metered justice and reason’s plight.
Freedom is my cup
and its charge—
this morning light.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
We land on an island, or grasp a raft of floating debris. Can we catch a rest before the next storm? It is a broad expanse—this sea of life.