Turn

In a very young new year,

I ask for the gift of time. 

I have squandered it. 

There is no going back, 

But in the strangest way, 

My indulgences inform the going forward. 

The prayer, the supplication is,
I suppose, for the space and latitude to put 

The kaleidoscope, swirling stuff together in my head,
Into the shifting ground of being. 

It's a way of 

Slowing things down some, 

Connecting past,
And how it new arrives,
The language of it,
The sublime beauties of it,
The rich chapters of what
I barely knew
Until now, of it. 

In my mind's eye,
A veil lifts slightly
In this winter wind,
An understanding of something
Hard to describe appears,
Though I believe
It's shared, and I'd
Like to think that in this
Mystery, it's love that's
Shared, and

I let the details roll. 

I mean to stand, I guess. 

Stand back a bit;

Stand up, explore these insight
Gifts, and be vibrant in the
Blooming passage.