photo from old-picture.com
And before the end comes, the complete
corrosion of all things beautiful,
what calls us back to dust and the fine
delicate things under rocks, the solemn
quarters of the dead, or the believing
children who simply cannot resist
looking at the sun, curious about the circle
behind the wide glare presiding over
the world, the price of temporary blindness
that panics them and teaches us
to grow old wise to the benefits of light,
the harm of looking, trusting instead
the close and ephemeral, the feel
of objects, love; and the long view
of the old who are now straining
to look past all the nearby losses,
to the stars and their kind shapes,
now gradually being put out,
seemingly more distant, also perishable.
Renga # 18
a rucksack, my own two feet and the open road
lead to a rucksack, my own two feet
and the open road lead to rock
and roll. solid as. alternative
to the dream of looking over still waters.
but where to go?
where to find stillness
if not in water? maybe in my own two feet,
maybe in rock.
kuwabatake, the curator, gelo