in the sky where it dwelled when we
were born, he and I both, a generation apart,
in the same holy river.
time’s gatekeeper, further again cycle
the greater cosmic forces by which the stars
are posted to their own allotted places,
spheres of a different finitude on the dark face
In a day, in a moment
we are brought to a threshold and gathered
in and over. Nothing
can stop the old order
breaking down; not our wishes, not tears,
not prayers – for only thus can the new
ever be born.
In this first, new, December day,
grey dawn paints in the monochrome tones
of the valley; and look! – at the old field gate
how beautiful, how heartbreaking, this lone
fragile white periwinkle, opening to sky.
© Roselle Angwin, 4th December 2014, for JOA, 1928–2014