One day I drew
a picture of myself
- childlike and true -
and put a big circle
round the wee boy
I had craftily created:
a boundary, an area
so mum and dad can’t enter
because they want to change me
from stick man into fat boy
or make me much more handsome
by rubbing out (or hangman).
I used an HB pencil;
it’s a fine line.
In this half-light, the light is changing slow
- another day of feeling minor fear;
time is up, and so it’s time to go
seeking, finding little things to know
and feel, confabulate, perhaps to hear;
in this half light, the light is changing slow.
Forever probing language, me and you,
so I can be not me - if I could dare;
time is up and now it’s time to go.
I’ll spout my words but who can tell me how
meaning climbs a spiral or a stair?
In this half light, the light is changing slow.
One day, there will be nothing left to do
except to take another breath of air
when time is up and getting time to go.
Humility’s a constant – God I know -
the need to bend a knee is lurking near.
In this half-light, the light is changing slow.
Time is up and so it’s time to go.
in time, energy,
void and matter, I’ll
make space for your in-
tent. Through me, fulfill
needs - by action - for
a greater purpose
on this bountiful
earth; learning and for-
giving as I go.
Staying true, we will
create fire and ast-
onishment again
and again. Amen.
