Even when I might become weary
yield to difficulty a too steep climb
there is no rest, no pause to consider,
the place behind me...disappears.
Even when I might wish for yesterday
a time without challenge, conquered ground
there is none, only a next step- nothing granted-
in hourglass life every grain of sand
falls into contest, into a great divide
between what might be and what becomes.
Within a heart in search, a vision was found
on the face of a slow flowing stream, the Moon
made a flame upon water...and I keep it
as the glow of a distant face of love;
as I rise.
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