Softening

It was strange to see you
In these quiet days
Softening
Like the sun
In autumn.
Leaning into the
Growing wild
Like a shy Foehn wind
Curving charmingly
into the woods.
But I guess it happens
To all of us when we,
Like the golden dawn
Folding away the last
Remains of night,
Outgrow our dreams
And fold our ordinarity
Away.

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The Dream of tomorrow

Of all the gifts of grace
Nothing is as precious as longing.
We see it in the meeting
of sky and hoarfrost:
A white-haired aerial world
Fighting the elaborate rules of time.
Or in the quiet of the night sea
Without a single light to reflect.
We see it in the singing hazels
Bleeding into sleeping clouds,
And in the waning sun’s burgundy
Burning the past in its hand.
But most of all we see it in people,
Walking side by side,
Young and growing, old and leaning,
Always haloed by the dream of tomorrow.

People Journey

People journey
Like eyes across a map,
Walking above names
Of countries, unaware
Of steps crossing invisible
Borders.

Times of night,
Times of day, coming and going
As though a thousand miles
Never were left in the wake
Of exhaustion.

Something spinning,
Something changing, but never enough
To alter a destiny written in hearts,
Pierced by deprivation, by longing,
Never quiet long enough
To stop journeying,
Like wayfaring birds across beaches,
Sworn to secrecy
By a dream
forbidden by Impossibility.

People journey
Like eyes across a map,
Walking above names
Of countries, unaware
Of steps crossing invisible
Borders.

People Journey…