Mourners Come and Go

 

Mourners
come and go,
come and go.

The ones I know
sit alone in
separate rows.

We're all of us
alone as we come
and as we go

to and fro,
to and fro,
alone, alone,

all, all alone
as we come,
as we go.

Morning, Royal

         Photo credit unknown Internet source. (Please let me know if it is yours.)

Morning, royal

the finest time of day.   

Sitting at my work,

I watch and wait

for the world to show her

magic: trees not trees

and then, they are.

Looking from my book,

already I see leaves

now greenish,

in the time to form these words, 

now golden glow.

Alchemy: darkness into leaden grey to gold.

Above the hills, azure sky.

Time for me, too, to turn,

my finer self dissolved by morning light, 

into baser things:

earth and air to

breath and blood.

Transmuted in the dark,

I turn, return, to clay 

in brighter light of day.