Smiling at one’s self
in the mirror
in an event of recognition
heralding a new acquaintance-ship
with an old stranger
who has taken up residence
in the house youth abandoned.
One feels a bit embarrassed
and self-conscious staring
at a visage not altogether welcome,
but whose wry lineaments
and gently mocking presence
are not to be denied.
Like glancing at a map
while driving incautiously
and noticing the rutilated
striations of a veritable Medusa
of new roads radiating out at the
lateral margins -- -- -- -- --
of eyes which appear both
genial and surprised.
Smiling at one’s self
in the mirror,
leading to an audible chuckle
which would be difficult
to explain.
Recollections on an eternal
Spring vine bearing blossoms
Through all the succeeding winters,
Coloring the ice
Which melts again and again
In the unending season of the heart.
Wonder reaches beyond
the besiegements of age,
the quietude of love,
the neutralization of friendships,
and the distancing of success;
into corners opening into
wall-less rooms
whose glistening inner light
is the illumination of dreams
which one cannot read by,
but shifts vibrant thoughts
across pages of fading hope.
Wonderment is a rushing lion
leaping, in warm, friendly
recognition, upon the
loving, human progenitors of
its childhood,
and then heading on to what
is unavoidably left-------
bereft.
Wonderment is beyond
logic or belief,
and into the intuitions of joy,
love, search, and creativity.
It is a wonder to delve into,
and to realize existence.