Breakthrough
The sky, a ceiling of sallow floc,
compresses the breath, the mind, the will,
all aspiration chained to foreground,
a trudging evolution of sepic moments,
jejune obsessions, tawdry distraction,
the ether’s trails melded to murk,
suggesting, to the unschooled eye,
a natural climatic malaise
No solar orientation,
the map forgotten, destiny
opaque, a fading thought,
age of gold neither memory nor vision
But obfuscation was never Truth,
never did it speak the final word
Behind the veil, above it and within,
breathes the vibrant prospect meant for us
Breeze hints, wind spins the theme, shrouds rag,
gulls soar through shimmering air
in a paradise of fourth dimensional blue...
It is still the Creator’s world
from Mysteries of Light (forthcoming collection)