The Falling of Age Into Grace

For this is the passing of night into day
the falling of age into grace
the lines of the face melting like clay
And this is the roll of life and its course through time
and the ebb and flow of desire and human striving
that is like horses galloping in a troika of
full-throttled bliss and bluster

And this is the passing of day into night
between sheets in cheap hotels
in places tourists congregate to pray to amusement and wonder
where there are lions that roar into the wilderness of man’s conceit
Like so many aching teeth they will not be silenced
but they will lie down in the sun of tomorrow’s vindication
which peeps through the opening curtain with the stage fright of a novice actor
stepping into the lights for the first time

This is the roll of life and its course through time
where there is sickness which slices our hope like pieces of mica
shaving the brightest substance from our bodies
until we are duller than the ordinary mud that runs in the ditches of the cities
and in the souls of people trying to be well
where there is only the silver of a coin
flipped with the assurance that in life there are never more than two possibilities:
heads or tails…

which is a lie because the odds favour diversity
and the multiplicity of life that tumbles and spits like a mountain cataract
or sits in a cave and piles jewels like Ali Baba and his forty thieves