The day is done

And no one is immune,

It’s true.



That sense of a voyage

Slips seamlessly past,

For there is a finite beginning

And end to everything.



And yet a sense of connection,

A bejewelled purpose too,

Like the child

Whose way ahead

You’ve already lit,

Or the lover you’ve yet to meet.



Many such moments

Come and go, as they must,

Melting away

Into the space we are given.



But what endures for me

Is a persistent resonance,

Some heady wish

For access again

To a sense of wonder

In the stream of things,

That, this time round,

It might just be possible

To keep in my heart

A little longer.



So tarry with me awhile

And we will see

What we can do

To tenderly explore

Beneath the frail shell

Of all we’ve since become.



Trusting that, maybe within

Such smoothly sculpted casing,

And still delicately enclosed,

Might just lie the silky lustre

Of some lavish

And joyful communion,

Waiting for its chance

To grip and catch the light again.