by Richard Wehrman
Can we rely on these cycles, the moon in
her motion, the tides, the celestial markings
of repetition that do not really repeat
but come new, again, as predicted; a certain day,
a time, a movement of a planet traveling
its lonely journey through the symphonies of
deeper and deeper space. Yet all of it is new,
a never before, an always, the way blue is blue,
and the sky is reaffirmed by sunrise.
Without astronomical marks, the careful counting
of rise and set, we shift inside our skin,
our soul heralds the unheard clarity
of vast presences aligned, knowing by our skin,
our tongue, the flow of distant rivers
lifted by the air and wrapped in molecules about us—
we have traversed, we are in new time, a
time with no time, unknown to clocks,
to calendars: the being of time, rising as all
the world arises, to taste the sweetness of opening
cells, to absorb, to radiate, to become tendrils
and vines of Green, to become in completeness.
Printed with permission by Richard Wehrman
You can read more of Richard's poetry in his book, Light was Everywhere: Poems by Richard Wehrman, available at Amazon.