It's Always Morning --To Mark

There comes the moment when the mind drops to its knees in silent wonderment, and there may ride the morning out beyond the breath, out where intention yields to quests the soul has never seen. Someone saw them. He dared to penetrate the veil and let me know my journey was not done, nor was the day half gone. His shroud was not for burying, but for the nagging mystery still living in suspended splendor on the altar of desire. My traveling plan is open still; there may not be an end. I hear him. The morning rings upon the other side, and here upon the surging of the day within, the outward splendor of that endless dawn begins to print itself upon the tablet of the heart. The substance is of light, the joy remains our sustenance, the love which will not die defies imagining, for it defines an irrepressible eternity we'll never understand. ~