pot shards

Drifted through yesterday
and the way I made-up many days past,
and reworked them to suit the new filter
placed over the distillation of time;

I drifted further, into the places
beyond the easy handles of yes and no.
Falling softly into places
where fears and loving make crossed currents
that pull me under.

Then I learn once again
to begin to breathe inside bubbles;
I find courage to renew
the birth-time notion to chew water,

and in this mix of twelve and six-
inverted hours and powerless to stop-
the urges that spring forth.

I stand in greater need of forgiveness
but there is no one here to absolve;
all are implicit and indebted-ly involved,
totally invested in the seamless dream.

When it is all done, and we enter
the lasting silence of sleep, then
life becomes the broken-pot shards;
the undisturbed dust surrounding them
make a picture...for the final cover.