The Light of Mornings-After

I find joy hidden in indiscreet places/
Faces crossed in ascension, pure
The unwrapped courtesy of an elderly couple
Holding hands, after exhausted labours
Possessing, more tenderness than I do!

I find joy in the cemetery trees/
That bloom, as if the flowers
Strewn beside the graves, gives them compost
Warm and lush, energy insatiable
All things have a heart, invisible but alive

Like all that Love that isn’t dead/
It was transformed into other things
Suppressing one secret, for another form
Let the labors go on, lives and flowers too –
I can admire then, the architecture

Of my own doom, the way things grow/
From passion to indifference, the way trees
Wave goodbye to different eras of our becoming
I find joy in the profound trance of in-betweens
Like the slight breeze on the lake
Where as a child I used to gaze.