If all time is eternally present,
All time is unredeemable...” T.S. Eliot, “Burnt Norton”
The dust stirred of its own
On a windless day—Maybe the sunlight,
Or the memory of dew
Drying in warmth from the sun
Lifted the dust.
We cleared the orchard of children
Counted four—
What of the fifth?
Was there a fifth?
We forgot the one fond of small spaces
She made so little soundFor one who liked to sing—
You had to know where to listen,
In the silence of song
Under tunnels of leaves,
Burning green in the early hours,
Darker by moonlight.
At the sound of footsteps
Only the leaves breathed.
Her eyes became blackberries—
You wouldn’t know
They kept watch.
After the playing in leaves
Was done,We accustomed ourselves to what remained,
Compensating by reflex.
How can you miss what never was there,
Or no longer there?
How can you grieve what you never had?
What might have been
And what has been
Are all the same, we’re told—
Eternally Now, in serenity of things present,
Surrender the lost time
Surrender the lost...
Surrender.
As if calling it such
Fills the body of word—No hollow words—
Repeating them often
At least makes a sound
Somewhat of words—
Surrendering dust made a blanket
Of time,
But under it slumbered
The one we forgot,Except in matters of song
That stayed in small places
However we tried.
She must have thought we tucked her in
Forgetting the lullaby
Forgetting the prayer—
She loved thick blankets
And stars she could see Through the window.
She said she could hear
The music of stars,
That everyone could
If they learned to be still.
How could we know she was sleeping,
When she stayed so still?
She must have been dreaming of song,
Stirring the dust on a windless day,With sunlight lifting the leaves—
Not hearing footsteps approach
From the Second World
That doesn’t know of
Dust and leaves,
And what can sleep under them
In tunnels made gold—
How could we know she was sleeping,
When she stayed so still?
She said everyone could,
Regardless of Worlds, apparently,Or she wouldn’t have listened to you
Come out of there now,
You’re somewhere—
Startled, she burst from the leaves
Like a pheasant, scaring the horse,
Settled at flight distance
Watchful, awake—
A small feather came away in your hand,
But from the other world
You couldn’t have seen.
She stayed for the song.
If time is unredeemable,
Yet all eternally present,
What is Surrender
But a false word that means
Something like sleep
Or forgetting?
Redeeming time is the Now
That cancels the lost—
The finding and making
Here, if we learn to be still
Is the music of stars.
We fight so little,
And not long enough,Too easy acceptance
Too much moving past,
We call it a Life,
Repeat the word often,
At least making sounds
Of something like words—
Humankind can bear Reality,
As we bear the pain of birth,A fact to be accomplished
In defiance of Time
That tells us to leave
The dust unstirred.
December, 2011
