johanan

the years mount up

but do not gallop off

not yet

though soon they'll run amok

tonight we are between time

between destiny darkness fortune

and luck

i want to give you a gift

something that rhymes

but the only theme i can think of

is an old gag

along familiar lines

about the world being at war the day you were born

it is you know

it always was

and it will be so in the morn

history itself is a storm

of souls against the infinite

but the thought wrings too violent

for the poem i want

and i am left

with something half achieved

something more prose than poem

inspiration flees

soon no more words will come

the jungle chirrup

of fledgelings in the hedgerow

draws my eyes to the window

the darkness pulses

as a billion times before

into something old

something new

something murky pure

grey light becoming white light

the firstlings of the dawn

drink the night