A Time of Becoming

It is always

A time of becoming

When the rose

First blooms

It opens in readiness.

The bee drawn by invitation,

And so the dance begins,

Sown into the seeds

Of perpetuity.

Even the music

Of the birds,

Their chorus a presage

To the dawn,

Its glorious enfolding

Igniting a blaze of

Golden fingers that

In their bleaching glide

Across the vacant blue,

Massage old bruises

And colour the sky

With the bright light of morning.

Days stretch out

Before the world weary,

Bleary eyed traveller

In a spray of passing fancy,

Brightened by hues,

Which vary their subtle shade

In the turning

Of the seasons,

And always seem to

Invite comparison

With yesterday,

When even the darkest passage

Creates an image

Of finer clarity

Than the portrait deserved .

The move toward completion

Begins anew, with every

Footfall.

Even a familiar path

Presents with difference,

An acceptance,

However gradual,

Of chance and possibility.

The certitude of outlook,

Amended,

With the promise,

Of improved outcome.

Even light is ambient,

And its vibrant exchange

May lead you astray

Should you lose sight

Of the destination.

However temporary,

Every arrival

Is a time for adjustment,

A realignment

Of conjunctions,

Until the night,

When even this

Velveteen closure

Is revealed

As a continuance,

In circularity.

The re-enactment

Of all things,

A coming together,

A revelatory insight.

And in this declaration

Turns the world,

Spinning,

On its head,

As a reward, for progress.

In the evolving process,

Of becoming.