Almost winter again. The trees are bare.
The finally quiet lake
Brims with reflected evening. Only the air
Shivers, about to break
With snow. As I give way to the cold, I find
What it is the years have yielded, hold it in mind,
Then release it into the dusk. The clear water,
Glassing the gathered sky,
Hides dark lives. They have pulled the sun through the mirror
And changed, as a wracked cry
Held back can change to a song. And now, silence.
Yet something is unfolding here-a presence
A quavering glitter, beams, radiated
From the core of a drowned star.
Faint at first, a fire catches. I've waited
Enough. The time that was far,
Whose coming I trusted, is close as the last gold spill
Of sun at the edge of the lake. I've but to be still-
It will come. Faith-it has nothing to do with promise.
I have known the strongest vow
To fail. But not faith fail. The very grass
That lives through winter now
Lies hidden: All that was freely loved and let go
Returns, of its own strong will, after the snow.