to enlightenment of daybreak -
From days that end with evening prayers,
whispered invocations into darkening skys,
hopeful vespers, with promises of dawns,
stretching yawns of awakening.
Ameera Kawash
All things not eternal are echoes ...
spring is so ephemeral ...
full of strange juxtapositiions.
Hey,
there is all green and blue.
Loitering has a reason of its own,
an agony to dream of in red.
Hey,
there is but one season.
There is but one stupendous life.
The Range spreads into its untilled hills
in the gray area
between night and day.
A brief song, and all is ended.
What kind of need is desirable?
What kind
of passion
in the transition between awake and sleep?
Territory, clean as a bud,
spreads to its limits.
Reflection rises from the human spirit,
breathless.
Breezes fade into beds of dark shadows.
Roads blend into nowhere
as they wind their forsaken ways.
Summer here again after
the summer before.
Beyond it, a foal falls.
Young are always born by summer.
Most living things die before they give birth.
True.
Everything is in flux.
The earth works mysteriously beyond
the world of dreams.
Mere time fills to its brim
with unendingness.
Somewhere,
life appears as dew
on the tips of grass blades
waiting for the sun
then to vanish
in the place where
you still remember ...
dreaming ....
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