Live Sweet Austere
Within the limbs of each thing at which we stare
. both I and you endearing us to the sweet
heart of time will tell, though even as a tear
. rends and falls unto the page whose meanings tease,
throbs an echoing recollection of east.
.
. Its truth, lest pain abide, is just to restore
what was lost once willingly, as leaves to trees
. when the chill and dimming year makes them assert
their tenacious mortal wills to live austere,
. though why to live is just more than any treat.
.
In vain and vital the impulse to arrest
. the moment, monument its lapse, so to see
below above behind affront the full stair
. of being human, of minds that bodies seize
on grave delights in passages unto rest.
The Blinded Eye 
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