Taking Aim
It starts as a thought,
a troubling notion far out
on the extremes of distance
making room for a lifetime
to occupy the intervening space.
Seasons come and go -
wildflowers ripple colour
across wide open plains
and inland rivers exhaust
into a shimmering heat haze
beneath an outback sun.
Fruits ripen and vines rush
to swell their sweet bounty
before the savagery of frost.
Love blossoms, grows, matures
into a silence, gathering all
that has been spoken
into an offering to transcendence.
Candles are lit in the crevices
of the soul.
It comes finally,
swallowing distance -
a whole lifetime -
and you stand paralysed
within your own sense of being,
powerless in the cross-hairs
of its sure aim.
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