The Sequential Movements of Eternity

A Poem

The snow hangs thick upon the branches.
The boughs bend to the kingly earth
— Queenly dirt upon which to rest.

You go at it alone. In long stretched blankets
blackened by the pond you caress.
The world is tremulous and full.
You build yourself from the ash of falling…

And bodies engage in warfare. Generations of mined
men and women, coming into the blue black of the sky.

You are neither blue, nor black.
Colored instead, like mud or the sand,
that you stand watch over.

Watching what?

Nobody knows.

Answers are spewed and drooled out.
While fools proclaim all knowing.
All tempting bent backwards into the forge
And wrought into lovingly caressed being.

I watch the snow drift again across the velvet earth.
Aeons and Eons of stamping and building,
And drowning.

I drown in the fullness of this life.
Coming up for air occasionally
into the sequential movements of eternity.