Winter seemed so late and long
As the sun bathed the invalids in their wheelchairs,
And even with their eyes halfway open
They could see the angel spheres
Floating in the birdsong,
But it’s a blur,
Those ancient relations,
Those children they were
Reconfigure in the vapor
As the highest common denominator:
Pure love. All distractions are gone,
They are given grass and cushions
And a hillside view to look out on the pale blue
And recover
But they move further
Into dissolving shapes,
The merging of the years
To full-throated colloquium
Of all the words and thoughts
Of all the veiled personas
That seem now like a gibberish of need
Outdated as the manners in a play –
Still they sit transfixed
By the meaninglessness of it all,
How it gains a different valence
When it doesn’t have to fill the hole
The way they thought it had to –
It simply quivers in its width,
Shining in perpetual glee;
A life is something
Even after everything it was melts away –
A privilege of being remains,
For missing all the privileges,
Evading all the meanings,
Repeating all the grades …
There are people that never were
Reminding them why they love them
And how the next time might be crazier,
Though the air now is mild
And whatever happened here
Has disappeared to a pleasant haze.
There's a stirring underground,
Indiscernible,
So it won’t be seen
By the permanent.
