A Lateness of Days




A Lateness of Days By Haze McElhenny

    In the hallowed clod of earth
    I hold a garden in the hollow of my hand.
    What thrives or does not thrive there
    I cannot feel, but rest in,
    As the bud or withered leaf rests,
    Child and mother,
    Spanning both century and season,
    Locked in a need to spin forever together
    Under the brightness of a fathering eye.

    I join myself to flower and tree,
    My imprisoned thoughts
    Caught in the crystal of teardrops
    That runnel the deadness of leaves,
    Coating their rumpled shapes
    With the wetness of sorrows,
    Anointing moldering time
    With the mercy of their means.

    A dry leaf in a rainy wind,
    I tumble to earth in a muted prayer,
    Kissed in my fall with raindrops and rest.

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