My Cue
A dark. unfathomed emptiness
swirls and coalesces
on the stage of my desire,
demanding nothing sired of need
or advocate, and of itself complete.
Yet I may own the unexpected certainty
and find that it is known
without a thought,
through just shy glances
as one moves inside the self.
It is an unpretentious wisdom, free
to fly upon the cliff winds,
turning toward the sea again,
above the crumbling decades
with their votive candles burning still,
above the shouts of triumph
just beyond the tomb, and yes,
more sacred in its wordless legacy
than that enscrolled
from any prophet pen.
At length, It was the little man
inside the prompter's box
who shook his head, and said
to watch your little universe go by
for still another dallying spring.
It isn't yet the denouement,
not yet your time to sing.
~
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