Musings # 66 Poem in POEM


In the earth’s spin and revolve –

no voice says now, no finger

points to the hands on a clock face,

no bell tolls the call to prayer.

Yet the sun’s slanted rays in autumn

can startle a man out of his fugue,

blind him to past defeats,

cause him to weep –

for himself and for the beauty

of this forsaken world.

And so his despair has lifted, opened

to hope and possibility – the way

a receptive ear cocks toward

a bulb’s stir into shoot and bloom.

Not needing to know why,

I rest in the mystery, unsolved

and unknowable –

heart gladdened by the way

– in the unspoken dark –

the interior readies itself.