The 65th Day
It began only by inches.
Tracing back time
all the way down the road,
until you re-arrive
to the last remembered crossroad.
And you think, where did it all go wrong?
Inch by inch, day by day.
You awaken to fresh joys.
These fits of the opened spirit
are only the beginning.
These circuitous routes of our lives,
these deep rhythmic patterns, random and cogent.
When sung in harmony
sorrow is joy.
In inseparable union.
To this the old creaking road
muttered a groan.
William was walking into
his 65th day of the trek.
He was searching for the remote chapel,
deep in the woods,
that his father had died in...
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