CONFLUENCE

Words rain upon my tongue,

upon its unbending 

muteness meet their demise.

Tomorrow is but a

shadow waiting to take shape,

as a gust alive preceding

the wounded swallow.

I make a futile clutch at the 

sounds of early Spring,

at the glimmering green breath

that parts the earth to

meet the God. 

I invoke the dark brown depths

that birthed the verdant flame,

the Flow that waters

The Tree of Life, its ripples and

currents etched

in soil and stone, upon spirits

and skies.

The forest does not sing this Day,

the Sacred Oak holds

the remnant of birdsong

in its ancient heart of light and

dark circles.

I am a waterless influent, 

Great River, drinking deep of 

cascades of voices

straining across oceans of Time,

that shower over

withered stalks and green alike.

Blessed respite,

mystical insight,

at once fleeting and prolonged,

retreat into the Light, 

as the Hours convene.

I cease to seek words in worlds,

as the hands of the

celestial clock meet in prayer.

Nay, I must seek the world within

each Word - Light, Life, Flow,

Confluence.

© 2016 Lily's Verse

Lilium Candidum

Image: HANDS OF TIME

Source: fineartamerica.com

Artist: Andrew Judd