It is for me to watch...
to stand in where the shadows were,
absorb the light
and fill my heart
with those vignettes of knowing,
skittering before my inner eyes
like diamond dust.
Here is my chance to age
with wisdom not my own
but wander here between the stones,
their relative array, perhaps
a sage's gift in chiaroscuro
stone, to stone, to stone.
The night is for the cherishing,
the silent requiem,
the first and last 'Shalom'
to fade without regret.
This is where the shadows were...
Shalom to feast upon and to forget
but for the watchers,
emulators of the Holy Ones,
the breathless worshipers at Stonehenge
echoing the chant of God
across ten thousand years
and you may hear the whisper of it
now, within...death is a dream
you saw at Easter Island, and
upon a mountain in Peru.
Watch along the deathless hours
before the sun appears.