Sitting Quiet

Sitting quiet I do
Scan the lineage of
Man which lies before me,
Horizontal ranks of
Sand, blown into the eye
Of Time and
Still no tear thence does
Fall.

Risen, made, ripened in
Sunlight their ends to meet
In evening's nuclear
Light
As well they might, for
Mortality's promise does
Exist, in here, in now
And not in fabled future's
Well dreamed paradise.

Find and seize the fleeting,
Flitting hand of love and
Tear off it's subtle, silken
Glove and press that
Hand hard to your breast
Through your very chest, into
The black and crimson
Heart of you.
So one has won and
Thus made two
To keep thee company, and
Still thy brooding.

Taste the taste before
Ye now, take up the rose's
Barbèd shaft
Swallow pleasure, pleasure
Pain and all between
For after all
Experience is but that
You've dared to hold;
Time aplenty for regrets
In the cooling mould of the
Coming grave.