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.
~
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