~On Williamson’s 65th~

It was a dream I had,
A moment captured in a blink,
Spring green or autumn russet-clad
Balanced on the brink

All in a synapse span,
The while mute constellations turned
Beyond, and where the plovers ran,
Scryless ocean churned.

I named it after me,
Drew out the light and it was good,
And to the dark a boundary,
Fixed and understood,

To mean what I decide;
Now clotted knotwork runs of rhyme
Make and unmake, leave and abide.
Syllables mark time.

A decade for a day,
And on the seventh day to rest,
No God but I, who scribe in clay,
At the words’ behest.


Copyright 2008 Briar Rose

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License. To view a copy of this license, visit creativecommons.org/licenses...c-nd/3.0/ or send a letter to Creative Commons, 543 Howard Street, 5th Floor, San Francisco, California, 94105, USA.

~Title gratefully borrowed from a recurring line in "Five Denials on Merlin's Grave," by Robin Williamson

Photo: Celtic Pen