Birth
comes whispering
her way
into the world.
The passing
of the days
are unmentioned,
unnoticed,
forgotten sounds.
And then,
with no forewarning,
another faint whisper,
and we have
death
at our fingertips.
In vain
do we grasp
desperately
for the fleeting
moments,
sounds,
of which we were
oblivious to
only yesterday...
which were
Ours
only yesterday.
Alas!
All is gone
far
beyond our reach,
save only yesterday's
murmuring
echoes.

cj  1971

I feel the curve of your palm
Like a phantom ache,
And know that this impression
Has permanence.

Pondering the dust devils
In mid-fall
Your presence coalesces
Like those phenomenal vortexes
That spring up unexpectedly
Swirling pieces of a world
That is slowly falling
Asleep.

Snowflakes drifted in winter
Occasionally catching mates
To dance to earth with,
And alone I traced
And remembered patterns in the ice
With initials scrawled.

The world was a contradiction
Of flowers and ice
And I marveled at the strength it takes
For a tiny seedling
To briefly break through the
Weight of the World.

One more glimpse,
One more chance, when the sun bathes the earth
And children robed like a flock of crows
Take a stretch of paper
Relinquishing them
To the real world.

One more moment to see
How the span of seasons
Can change everything
And nothing.