At the End of a Dark Time

clouds the color
of the sky,
mountains
the color of clouds

don't hold onto vistas
passing by,
let them open spaces
beyond our dreaming,
and tell of rhythms
beyond our muse

the Hopi knew that the
thorniest of scrub
unlocks the key
to what is human

we cannot be more
than we can see
but we can become
what we see
in the clarity of our dreams
intervening

we unleash
in fibrous seeds
the sunbeams
of our learning