Late Arrival

(By Gub, Smaland, Sweden, the 20th of August)

The measurer is time.

Time to recall;
To catch the feather’s drift
Downward –

The child’s call
A bell – so sonorous – in the dark,
Making light work of weight

The voice that lifts the shroud
And unveils the dawn

The bedraggled guest arriving late
For August’s dusk – too
Early for Autumn’s glory

The harvest cheer
Luminous and incandescent
The humungous moon

And the man, with the child’s face,
Drowns in unspent history, in a world
Weary with thought, deeds dedicated to;
He knows not what.

The lake – still in the wildernes
That sunlight settles,
Cloudless

A beam of nothing
Falls like a heavenly laser

On single
Breathless
Reed.