Wednesday, February 3, 2010
This is the new temple,
four quadrants of sky still curious and blue.
Cloaked with leaves by the sea, mother of all,
be she of marble on the sere beach,
waxed nude in every crevice
and standing shy with glowing leaves.
She breathes devices so far distant now--
in the next step by a stranger
beyond the anger that fed us,
beyond the softness and smiles
that healed, beyond the bed
of every day myths, delighting
in wild and different notions.
Only yesterday is the line time of encircling ocean
smiling from here to here.
Some lives grow gold and that is a way of finding them.
Others rush forward in a mad crowd on the strand
when one tries to remember which day
appeared on the sand loveliest and far graced.
Was she youngest and most patient?
Was she wisest and most ancient?
Was she most treacherous and loyal,
straight-laced and most royal,
lecherous and most unspoiled?
This is a new temple,
four quadrants of still curious blue.
What shall we do?
[copyright EAC 2010]