When the morning's flight
lifts the darkened blind,
and slows the speed of time,
be ready in your heart and mind
with gratitude, as you drift
on a sweet and quiet river,
lined by silent watchers;
remember their gifts, and the jewels
of the givers,
For that light is sure to glow
fierce and steady in your memory -
a time when, young in years, you looked
but found mere traces of eternity.
How to explain such growing wisdom,
whether dormant in the reflected steel
of shimmering waters, safe in their valley,
or in cast-off sparks from the common weal?
Set fast upon a rising ground,
the path of understanding is rocky,
the lichen damp;
no choice is given, save a trial of wills,
paced out, silent as Serpico's lamp.
Here, the demons of long goodbyes
drip chants and doggerel dirges,
to flood the past with black regret
until (from courage) an open road emerges.
Thus reconciled, turn your thoughts
towards the quiet river's end,
where an ancient lighthouse stands,
its beam your soul's unending friend.