precious hour

 

the extra hour..always a little nugget of surprise
that i can turn over again and dream another dream;
that extra hour, so full amongst the weak trickle of morning minutes.
An opportunity born full-,
like Aphrodite in the surf, a thing of infinite potential
and boundless worth;  I wrestle
with the burden of choice--
like the prophet on the desert floor--
a struggle in the tent for supremacy
will it be fantasy or logomachy?

Conversations from my adventurous youth
rise like happy ghosts, and the notion of freedom,
so sudden, it is the epiphany that comes
like a bolt of white in the stillness of night.
i await the thunder or the echoes of a canyon,
or the loon song bounced off the pines.

An hour... to devour the complexities of time
to understand that light can crawl and darkness escape vision
with an inspired alacrity; there is an utter synchronicity 
to the 'making and unmaking of me.
i live, i die ; i inhale, and  i reason.
i speak endlessly from heart to spirit,
to the heart of the heart where i dwell
in a splendid solitude.
There, awaiting the door to open when once again
i pass myself going to and from life...

ohhh, this hour, precious hour...as my eyes clear
and the clock speaks of... afternoon