You watch and determine day from night
You linger past the moonlight’s afterglow, well into the promenade looming behind a crested pounce of wave
Evenings are but intermediaries to you
And your centurion’s cage is, at most times, evenly divided into quadrangular partitions of sky
You watch A hour half past six or a
Five months from now—wherein, affixed the
Light stays as strikingly as ever remembered
Or if noncommittal, than your alternations harp accordingly—
To where a number of factors alit the present face, to which, of course, your eye catches each fractured toil and fragmented stint,
You are born
You are beneath
You are besides
And you’ve always been between
Yet it is here where you allow your form to follow form and not in that “some other time of year,” where flesh glistens by moonlight, dances it’s hypnotic tides across the serenity of it’s mystic shores
It isn’t always always fair, just, deserved, proper, adequate, moral, ethical or right. Yet you evaluate all things as if they are all cut from identical tapestries
It may not even be considered plausible to the well-magnified test of eye. You not only understand this, but appreciate it as well.
You always seem to deliver us the current’s time of day
You notice and then proceed to oversee the fourteen lights and you remember that twelve of these originate a lake; one from a river and the other is a long and winding stream.
You hear a swift sound. It scurries quickly across the rocks
You hear the rasping quicken but do not inquire upon its source.
You are not curious, for you are fully aware.
You know it is but a sound. You know rats abound this place, as they nest their families near the grates of drains. You fear them not and understand them completely.
You declare that they’ve been unjustly defined. Your posture alleviates apprehension. Your loving tone quells the fears that may have otherwise stirred within. You indicate that while they are truly a rambunctious lot, it is only that they are consumed by restlessness and are but solely happy to be, invigorated by a life that does not ignite until only after darkness has fully blanketed the light of day.
You bend over slightly.
As you do, your robe sways softly in the salty air.
You reach down and return aligned.
You are smiling as you hold the smallest of them.
It fits within the palm of your hand. It is malnourished. You provide it the sustenance it needs.
You take hold of me. Your grip is firm and strong. It is comforting to hold. You lead us down the break-wall, taking us to its very point. You see my reluctance and whisper to my soul, “follow me and you will not fall, for I love you as I love each and all.”
You disappear, yet I still feel your hand in mine. As the surf tickles heel to toe, you’ve filled me with all I’ll ever need to know.