Harold Carr

Harold Carr

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Sun, 28 Mar 2004

morning after flaming stars

Another sun after sleep. After dark dreams of flaming stars and laughing moons. Too soon the dawn. Likewise, too soon the night. Too soon the end of each and every thing just at the perfect moment. Each and all in every place in perfect motion becoming time.

Being Time. Time is change. Being is change. Being is becoming. Becoming encompasses birth and death. Joy of life and joy in the face of death.

We linguistic animals labeling life. The poet's job is to rearrange the labels, to make strange, to reveal in the mystery in song, to dance with words.

Here on a bluff looking out over miles of beach and an infinite ocean. Why hurry? The waves will continue as will the sun and the earth's rotation. At least for time being. At least as far as we can see. And we do see far, even to the end and to the beginning. So far that our place is indeed a miracle of prodigious chance. So much chance in the brimming universe that our private miracle is common. Hold it precious and light.

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Harold Carr

Harold Carr