Page 12 - Contrast1991Spring

Elegy

In those days,
a voice was still singing

sweetly in the hills;
we heard him and followed,

for the star was our guide
and the light sprang up from within.

A boy grows up-
this is as unstoppable as the
weariness which comes upon you in the midnight hour
and urges you to sink fully
into the dark bed which necessity

has prepared.
The voice lowers in tune and scope

and falls with gradual increase
into the covers long awaiting.

But the morning skies
are these days cloudy,

silent,
no clock rings,
just the habitual being that comes of
intensity expended.

We hear no more,
the ears go first

and then the light,
but if I see,

then neither do I sing.

-Jay Taylor

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