Impulsions of Time
My bones are stardust extruded through pipes
of identity. Life flows in me the way desire
flows within the narrow tubes of the sun to
come out of the earth as sap and light.
I am old like the hidden moss that rolls
mountains around on the slippery runners of
the wind. This age I have is a mushroom of
darkness knitting together a succulent flavor
that will never be fully tasted, and that is
okay, for from the ground upwards I am nothing
but vision and all that is below me is my
journey within an eternal artery. My age is not
an erosion but a remodeling of holiness.
If there is an ultimate being then it has to
be as fleeting as sun and shadow upon water.
I cannot follow an eternal deity, I am too old
for interminable. I must race upon the rays of
a fleeting joie de vivre shedding myself as I
spray from an unseen radiance as a floret of love
and a transient bloom of the sparkling void.
(C) Eric Ashford June 07