Waiting for the New Era

“The end is where we start from.” — T. S. Eliot

 If  I  Could  See  the  End  Coming

             I would wait for it. Where?
             Beside the sumacs, under the beech
             where the animals I’ve grieved
             are a trellis of bones. I’d ask
             the Carolina wren to spill out
             her song, and as the world condensed,
             hyacinths, peonies, stargazing lilies
             would bloom together, bathing everything
             in their thick, sweet scents.

I wouldn’t expect a sudden white light

or a familiar crowd on the horizon

waving me forward—just trees hiking

down the mountainside, winter creek

softening at the edges, filling with snowmelt,

tumbling toward me. My husband,

a river-runner, would be holding a trout

he carved from redwood burl, curved grain

giving momentum to fins, his voice

only in my head. “If you’re swept away,

point your feet downstream.”

             Beyond me, there’d be leaping,

             the sporadic glimpse of deer, squirrels

             threading understory. I’d nod

             to a single black bear up on two legs,

             the last wild man, savoring the air

             above his face. I’d watch the low moon

             step down from a locust branch, pause

             at another, and slip away. All would be,

             or seem, a slow process, like falling

             in and out of love, again and again,

             with the same person for years.

Many thanks to The North Coast Journal for publishing this poem in its 
January 3, 2013 Issue. Hurray, we made it into the New Era ... now let's
hope  for a global community where enlightened & empathetic actions   
lead the way.