Winding down…..

It’s like a diminishing rain,

drops falling as light touches,

entering our brain, guiding neurons

on their way to feelings……perhaps

on their way to ideas,

whose consequences are

that rain will eventually cease

            altogether.

Winding down…..

A slower walk from the kitchen

to the rose garden,

eyeing a row of mole tracings,

or a dead flower

whose lineage is like

a filigree of DNA

ploughed under and recorded

by thought,

whose consequences are

            confusions about time.

[How strange, this thought

that loves itself so much

it capitulates to all within its ken

and holds it dear, and gives it names,

at least for an hour or a day.]

Winding down….

Commencing in middle age,

sometimes sooner, or later,

when the night falls

like a hand over one’s soul,

a grasping, clutching hand

that makes one shed tears

when no tears are required,

like seeing a nesting swallow

whose nest has been destroyed,

who then vanishes into summer….

            one begins to vanish

            into summer.