I saw the distant day writ large,
when life would show itself,
and write upon the page of earth
the truth of who I was.
It was a story told before
I came into this world,
and one which would endure
beyond, the Self material.
These tales are brought to birth
in worlds, before and after now,
when truth eternal writes itself,
onto the cosmic page.
And in the doing fleshes out,
creation's fertile mind,
as you and me and all that is;
as God revealed in time.
Life carries forth the newborn child
and offers one more soul,
to breathe and be within this world,
to find their way back home.
It is a journey from the womb,
through days and years and time,
to birth the Self material,
in ways which make us wise.
In blink of owl and eye he sits,
observing as I work,
through ordered hang of clothes
on line, through day
and into night.
In sombre mood he modulates,
the moments as they pass,
and then cries low and sonorous,
time's open door to mark.
If only we could track the path
which leads us on from now,
in order to protect ourselves
from what we do not know.
And yet in this becoming,
through dark emerging dawn,
we find the shape of who we are,
the truth of Self and Soul.
Your eyelash settled on dusted cheek and rose and fell in silent sigh, as breath and beat held sleeping court and skin surrendered to the sheets, with whispered tones of almond and honey.
I watched, held court, with time's assent, that rise and fall of chest and belly, in wonder at the touch and feel, of love made manifest in life.
You slept, not seeing what I saw, nor hearing gentled tones of sound, which sleep allowed escape and cause; reminded me of what I had. The dawn had given form to shape, had filled the vision lastly felt, and drawn my eyes to deeper truths, which lay in languorous, light salute.
And in that moment, you were mine, in all that life could offer up; a holding fast to absolutes – illusion smiled at both of us.