At last, he sees the pattern spun in gold: The maritime, the nautical in how It is the trip, the journey makes us old; It is the search to find what's really now. How many hours rowing, tacking wind? How many flat seas scanned, how many ports? The plans he scuppered, burned up, tossed, or …
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it is still in there until it isn't anymore
When he worked, he dreamed of rest; Now he rests and dreams of work. Nestled in his hideaway, Giving rein to whim and quirk, He can range o'er all the earth Giving new thoughts second birth -- He can be all things, he can: Except, maybe still A man
What moved me, beyond hope [...]
The memory I have of you Is one that’s ever-dimming now; As other lands and other climes Take over my recall – But still, I see a fading bridge, A perfect sort of summer day, Just past the edge of words and rhymes: I almost See it all
Between the after and the before.
In spring, you feel the newness of it all. Each feeling is a flower, fresh, unique; Like love or loneliness, each one is pure, And beauty of discovery hangs round The edges of the garden path that leads To who you want to be and where and how — In spring, you feel the newness …
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A boy, I marveled at the clouds, So strange and wondrous in the sky; I’d spread my arms and try to fly, Admired by the watching crowds. I knew that I would not stay small, One day my shoes would scuff their fluff — But now that I am large enough, I rarely look at …
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Sitting at our kitchen table, Eating cereal with sugar, Watching them go through the careful Ritual of making coffee Always, bigger kids and grown-ups With their ceremonies daily; This one, with a smell like almonds, Orange light from pewter shining Steam from off of cups while carried, One who stops for milk and …
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