Clay

REMISSION

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These are the days, finite,

long glorious evenings, I feel no pain,

chestnut and whitethorn in reckless display,

birdsong flinging notes into the sky,

I know its transient.

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A breeze scars the lake, heat of the sun,

the sky tossing clouds, rain on my face,

the scent of mother’s old rose bushes.

The world spins to make the night,

but for now this is enough.

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Another May is building towards the solstice,

another chance to be, I whistle a tune of praise

in gratitude for everybody and everything,

for all of this, allowing the senses to feed

into the unlimited joy of awareness.