
SECOND DAY
There is not a separating line between
the light of day and the light of night.
The hull and the revelry of the prow
squeak the continuance of endlessness.
My soul, the fiery whirlwind,
promises nothing.
I who dreamed of landscapes
where horses galloped unimpeded
in slippery paths of sun-downs
I envisioned my body in heights
in armories and pulpits.
Yet I often ended my days
there at the ancestral well where
faces and things of the yard remained
with me for many forgotten years.
The beauty of the mountain vanishes
if you don’t have a vantage point
from where to gaze.
I assumed the role of the cloud
which won’t ever bring a blessing.