FINDING EQUILIBRIUM
Off the mountain, the stone turns round –
sheds it edges and rests between pools,
between trees, between the floods
with nothing left to prove. It has not
taken long to fall from steep ideals,
far peaks like teeth tearing at the sky.
A steady roar of news pushes upstream,
ruffling willows, oaks and sycamores,
yet much is lost along the way here –
like the petty and picayune that don’t
sell much for long, or the slow drums
of the ever-fearful souls determined
that the world has gone to hell with hate.
What genius lets these molten fires explode,
leak out to cool beneath the ice, to create
these ever-changing clouds of steam
at Eyjafjallajokull? And we so pleased
that it’s not the end of a work in progress.