The Curtain

 

As day hours lengthen, seasons sway back and forth,

In this alchemy of time, the world pitches equinox,

Morning air crisply fragrant with buds and thaws,

Tranquil.

Between now and forevermore, a pregnant pause,

Epiphanies sweet symphony, God's verba and vox,

In luminous transfiguration -- creation shows its worth.

Thankful.

Upon a certain path by a mirrored tranquil pond,

The water translates the skies in beatific vision,

Elysian synesthesia, words and senses so moved,

Ecstatic.

A form of heaven and earth, in the pond infused,

Colours burn with more substance, and precision,

The curtain drawn reveals what is beneath and beyond,

Hypostatic.

Clouds, birds, trees, but also cars, homes, and neighbours,

Each most actual in the pond's echo of their ethereal forms,

Might we all exist as shades of what is real, what is beautiful,

Transfigure.

This passing glance avows these days are sallow -- merely liminal,

Yet also bespeaks that higher and farther, an embrace transforms,

Such that every breath partakes of love, an exhales in a prayer.

Linger.