Oeuvre

There are such moments, sudden and serene,
When time's dominion suddenly is lost,
And a sequence of events, once unforeseen,
Reveals a pattern, hidden at all cost.

The fullness of all color disappears,
All turns ephemeral, like a dream's embrace —
A play of human masks throughout the years,
The silent chime of stars in time and space.

For some strange reason, it begins to ache,
The head grows heavy with the weight of dreams;
And then, a rhyme, an verse, begins to wake —
From this deep ache, the living language streams.

January 13, 1985