Wednesday, March 9, 2016

Stone and Dust

Today I set forward the clocks, as if exploring time.
Does time make Spring or Spring make time?

That is how the world began and the world expire.
They are the case: the stone and the dust:
the maker, the thing.

Achilles dropped like stone in the river invincibility.
He started the engine.

Light-hearted Adam sat beside Eve.
She said, "Thou I instruct."
Who else? She looked for the others.
How, she suspected, come the others?
A gone sorrow drifted toward their couch.
Know you darkness? Then know you light.

Mother, mother I am drowned!
Hair swept back black river of time,
his face like a lizard on stone.
His left arm drifts, reaching.

She fiercely holds him in extremity,
eyes suffering the pride of his birth.

Ten-thousand horsemen drift across the plains,
their horses scuff the sacred stones.

Mother, mother let me go.
She feared he'd drown.
She dragged him back.

So says Eve to Adam in His presence.
That was Thetis' sin not mine.
That was how the world started round.

Ten thousand fierce horsemen woven in sacred stone.

Light-hearted Adam turned before her.
We carry on. Frailty decides.
Frailty makes us human.
A thought is a puff of smoke.
So Eve taught.

Pale was her face her black eyes gleamed.
There is no beginning and no end but turning round.

The fierce horsemen woven in the sacred stones,
waiting for their leader
who is as frail as they, as frail as a thought.
Achilles will not live for his flesh to wither grow gray.
He is a thought a puff of smoke in the wind.

Eve will pass over Adam lighthearted beside her,
they will wither, grow grey and cease.
Their children will touch in time, pass on.

Spring is not real.
Not the stone, not the dust.
Nothing that comes and goes is real.
Time, which we cannot touch, is real.

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