There
is no time
slipping
and wheeling down steep slopes
the wind catches our ease
and sends us to outer reaches
where the dead sleep their ancient
sleep
and lullabies are heard no more
there is no time
to wind back the happiness we had
there is no time
to whisper secrets to tall fences
it will take forever
to
answer
for all the wishes the day has given
to evening stillness
a thought I once had
was to catch all the dust
from all the mantelpieces
that contain the bric-a-brac
of lives still lived
and put it into a
bottle
seal it tight as air in summer
and give it to the ground
so that when time was right
and stars were aligned in shapes made
of silk
the wantings of farthest wanderings
would remember
what
the forest never could
(and that is the future
and all that has been given with good
intent)
I will always be here
before any other move made
on any chessboard
I will always be here
and when the rest are gone
to scrape fire from their eyes
I will give you water
and
you will douse the flames
of what should never be
and what will always be
in times of side glimpsed hope
and burnt down vision
and in this
the whole world will reel
it will nestle on window panes
and give back to spirited adventurers
a key
that none have yet used
and it will open doors
that sand
never could
and in these places
rooms made of evil acts
will scare even the bravest
and their tongues will speak of war
but their hearts will yearn for peace
and then
before too long
I will have the sound you make
as you drift to sleep
and we will cradle the dark
and give rest to the wicked
