song for amuirin

Now Cleo faced the nighttime

she thought the urge a little strange

her pencil and papers

in a stack before her

hoping darkness

her thoughts would arrange.

.

She stared out of the window

thought of her lover sleeping alone

and all of the children

and all of the kisses

and all of their future undone.

.

And the nighttime drifted by her

and she moved along curled in it

past windows of houses

waiting for morning

searching for a someday

that might be yet.

.

There must still be room for trying

for this thing that makes life complete,

for the laughter of children

budging doubt into knowing,

she waited for the stars to speak.

.

But the stars speak only in rainbows,

speak in flickers too quick to record,

but you catch what you can

plan to talk to the man

of the future you can still afford.

.

Because nothing never springs from something.

Something always something begets.

Be it more be it less

be it good as your guess

be it good as honest effort deserves.

.

There’s a path out in the forest

forever closed to all but the sure.

You’ll go there tomorrow

if he will go also

and pray the path

your steps will endure.

.

And the darkness grows a little older,

grows old and round as motherhood.

Old as part seeking wholeness,

the crack in the moment

morning is born,

perhaps the day can be good.

Christ! Perhaps the day can be good.