a thing of wonder in the warmth of night

an awful omen something not quite right

and then the rain brings life back into tune

this brilliance breaks me out of my cocoon

but chases me indoors i can't requite

the gift of thought and of the fragile light

but do not understand it is a boon

to be caught there that moment by the rain

in natural blessing just that simple touch

of cooling water taking back to earth

both mind and body it is clear and plain

we must not love the world so very much

as to forget just what the light is worth

the night is heavy but i have the time

to think about my purpose on the climb

and wonder at the passing of each car

this morning distances did not seem far

and now i feel each little bit of grime

still looking up the moment is sublime

and nothing can this perfect journey mar

each mile has put its stamp into my feet

so much is obvious in the tropic dark

as i make game of what is still a test

my heart must wonder at what i will meet

the kind of future that i have to mark

and the long hours still left before i rest

you have not seen just where we have to go

but only how the motions are all slow

and no one wants to quicken up the pace

for any reason we have lost the race

to those who claim full knowledge of the glow

and have set forth in full and earnest flow

the masters and the captains of full grace

there is no haven left for your odd sort

who speak in sentences and will not judge

without the fullest sense of what is due

not only on the street but in the court

who are most honest and will never fudge

saying only those things that you know are true

so much to do and so much more to fear
words limit us and do not give us ease
on this and this alone the world agrees
as day follows day and year succeeds year
the twists and turns of each normal career
seem but the leaps of ignoramus fleas
or else the palpitations of disease
and we are pushed to the far edge of care
those are the choices of an age of crime
when every speaker utters a new lie
word after word oppressing human hearts
until we seem to have run out of time
and nothing's left beneath the hateful sky
that will respond to our remaining arts

those who regard the darkness with much awe
see in each glow a sign of some design
mighty and pure both distant and benign
unlike themselves perfect and lacking flaw
within each mind the simple forms they draw
become the means intended to define
a greater universe wholly divine
in which the nightly cycle is the law
across the sky the small lights leave a mark
for memory to hold in firm recall
as symbol of some purely human wars
to pierce but not relieve the heavy dark
and hypnotise us on the mountain wall
as we reach out and cannot touch those stars

there are no soldiers left to stand on guard
while demon-like the bandits roam the ways
so many hopes have faced their great delays
and we have learned that the last door is barred
the dead are crowded into the balm-yard
and what the prophet says they won't regard
having too long uttered the words of praise
and danced in one too many mad ballets
they take the meaning and they take it hard
this is the time for us to take our leave
while light remains to guide our weary feet
upon the path toward the last clear gate
another time perhaps we'll choose to grieve
for those who earned the wages of defeat
and learned the lessons of capricious fate

a final image lodged in the mind's eye
of what we know will soon become most rare
still deep inside each truly does not care
and wishes that the time would scurry by
without a fuss but such hopes go awry
and sordid secrets come to open air
while deepest coffers at last turn out bare
as the last maggots creep outside to die
the map provides no hint at final plan
nor is there indication of true place
just silent approbation by the guide
suggestion that we might ignore the ban
accept the new arrangement with good grace
and find a proper place for hope to bide

a simple cycle sun and night and rain
is not enough to make this world a park
not one of us expects to leave a mark
or know much more than what is clear and plain
when we are born that life begins in pain
and ends just where it starts in the cold dark
each of us hides from facts so wholly stark
but we are not allowed just to abstain
our task to enter in the line of dance
and learn the steps perhaps essay a whirl
not seeming to be out of proper place
while making the whole ensemble advance
and letting the new ribbon lose its curl
in a bright measure of perfected grace

i say goodbye to one more worn-out year
it takes its tired way off the old stage
there's nothing left my sadness to assuage
a future comes with more than normal care
to challenge me and force me yet to dare
accept the perils that confront my age
discreetly as i can and still engage
with renewed wisdom and not without fear
so much depends on listening to pain
and knowing just what signals to ignore
but paying due attention to the sign
that stands out clearly even through the rain
reminding us just how close lies the shore
and what the price of every glass of wine

before you reach the shore the cargo sinks
and with it all your hopes and every thought
of changing what you feared or had been taught
into a wilder form instead the links
reform and you must still endure the stinks
of memory and wrath and all the fraught
terrors in which our lives have long been caught
and groan as gaolers calmly close the chinks
those were you ponder brighter younger days
when happy sails could cross well-charted seas
and not be threatened by the coming storm
this is the time when we can't pierce the haze
and only horror comes upon the breeze
while even darkness seems to be too warm