What of dreams and darkness and those singing things from lullabies?
The final fret pressed to chord and re-chord the changes of all things;
Dreams and dancing, darkness and death?
What of hours passing in diners and dives with jukebox memories of a love
so well known you break the heart of us all?
What of those high school scenes of drunken kisses and bush parties
With fires to ignite the sky; see us from space, fly so high?
What of pretty faces and long walks on the beach,
But no less true for the hands running the world over,
Up mountains and
Across the plains;
Through the trees and
Down the river
What of the feint of heart,
Prey to the masters of war,
Prey to the missionaries;
Prey to those lovers so fleet of foot?
What of masters, missionaries, and those fleet-footed lovers:
Taking the world by storm,
And pouting lips too often the succor of our souls?
What of mystery; the unknown in all its forced grandeur,
For knowing what is not known to be unknowingly perfect
Or unknowably empty
Or the knowing of our hearts
Or the knowable in time and space
If time and space shook hands and sat to our banquet of discovery,
Not to walk on by, leaving us in shadows and dust?
© Anthony Leclair 2014