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 filtered 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
Smokescreen and camouflage
can no more obscure the origin of life
than expiate the consequence of hubris
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)