We wake to the rumbling thunder of blood, Pumping hearts, twisted hearts, this shadow and I Squeeze into the thick silences of trees. Soon the dark lights of Christmastide will afflict us Twilight memories drift, flux and flicker In this breeze of Time, Penumbra-beginning, hologram-end, Such pungent affirmations, slip into a past that does not last: Generations of suffering: eyes lifted to a cross, a crescent, a menorah, Yearnings spilling onto the pages of history: Promises made and never kept. Out of time’s descent; In the beginning the word. The sacred apartness of the intelligible: Fragments of the blood, firings in the brain, The body, a holy place again. This tinder-box of meanings flares, Time ebbs and flows, A means to an end.
