358. MORNING IN MAY

MORNING IN MAY
Incredibly shrunken heads in incredibly
shrunken places : no room to move, no
place to turn. Much like the vestibule
of a broken-down country church,
there's only room to stand while
waiting. The marchers will
soon go by.
-
It is early morning again, and
I am watching the slow sunlight
crawl up the side of a nearby
building. All Summer it will
do this, as I watch. Then, slowly
waning, the inching crawl will
turn its way again - back, closer to
darkness and death.
-
That room I once thought expanding -
so open and newly wide, will
have transformed again,
into something else :
another small and
dark, cramped
space called
Winter.