Bematist
Sisyphus calculating
counting
pacing taking the
measure of
the world from Alexandria
to the here and
now sees
the shadow reducing
along the curvature
of the earth
only
then to light up
the darkness
a moment
of water
caught
a well
slick
and
an
I
1
reflected on
a shimmering surface staring back gone
Monday
Sisyphus is
looking forward to the weekend
a moment where
the rock jolts and jumps
bounces gets the rooks in flight bends
the air running
to a stop looks back
and then he
smiles and takes his
time as he walks
back down
the indifferent sunlight
dying slanting
golden
on the trees
clouds
flame burnishing
the air pungent
smoke of the
neighbour’s
barbecue
drifting
towards
Monday
bedtime story
the softness of
summer light
late afternoon early
evening
the way it
adheres to solid surfaces
the way it
emanates from leaf and tree
the way it
washes across the grass
the way it
gathers in the air
the way it
breathes like music
and if you
listen
the way it tells
your story
using only the
present tense
gilding the
moment …
then the way
twilight turns to dusk
turns to
darkness incomplete
turns to
starlight distance crossed
and so to sleep
A moment
The wind has dropped, coming in over
the lake;
The storm, with its wild unrest, has
moved on,
So now the ripples barely reach the
shore:
The muscle of water relaxed; cloud borne away.
And the light lingers now, is altered and slow,
More smoulder than burn, as if the lifted lid
Of sky were hesitant to be lowered -
The moment is time, gathered and stored -
Only, finally, to slip from your fingers,
To slide shut on the darkness.
On the far side, away from the house,
The trees are gathering in the shadows
To separate black from blackness.
And soon the moon at your back will slink
Quietly into the water, quivering
Just below the surface, like a thought,
And you won’t turn to stare it in the face
But simply watch how it dances - elusive and alone,
Amorphous, trying to keep afloat -
Only, finally, to feel it sink like a stone.
