West
M.C. Gardner
I
Seasons roll,
Fall and Spring
From summer’s bright decline
Emerging rent by Winter
In a world run out of time.
In the beginning was the Word
She had not uttered
Whose light now fails the afternoon
In an eloquence of silence
She turned and left the room
II
So it’s strange to think of now
In terms of then
And stranger yet to wander thoughts down roads of when
When summer mornings meant mid-day outings
And the fires of July were cooled in the wet velvet runnings
Of enormous apricots
Beyond belief in the magnificence of their song
The eyes of our fathers
Were deeper than the sky
With more luster than a promise
We knew of them no lies.
Green was the smell of all touch
And touch the taste of all vision
In a hunger that knew no liquor
Yet drank till the dawn had sighed
Each day walked toward night
But the passing of the light
We never knew.
III
But tonight I see the shadows fall
And envelop the burnings of the world
As December’s crystal hues
Softly, in their flights descent
Round the vision in my breath
On this windshield
Moving
West.