Karmic Stream

Ripples
along a lazy stream of time
crossing whirlwind space.
Rippling into etched contours,
teasing tricks of mind.
Expecting miracles.
One day precedes the next.
Reflective pooling, a
faultless, serene slip of spring.
Next I know I am hauling logs
through winter
cold, ice-tinged hands and toes
dripping nose,
exhausted, wilting.
Life brings no promises.
None to hold them to.
There are no changelings of the night;
not even prescient aliens to awe us.
There is energy.
There is form.
There is shadow bleeding
into substance.
There is here and now receding
into there and then.
There are the promises we keep
never knowing we have made them.
Ripples
shining in the sun
colours of a thousand worlds’ rainbows.
Ripples quietly expressing,
infinitely regressing,
first cause
last effect.
.
.
.
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