Clear

It is not clear

whether we are rushing toward

or waiting for some bright

beginning, but everything

in us bends to it

with an ache deep as pleasure

but dark.

Whenever I break something

say bread or a bone or the bark

from split fir

I think about this

this day when all

things are made new, rejoined,

re-membered

and the end bends clear around

to the beginning and

everything

is as it is

clear

Mark Buchanan

Nov. 2, 2007

#clear #poem