Watching night turn to day—a thing that should be gradual, but instead proceeds by small leaps of realization: “It’s lighter now!” Rain. ---Dave Bonta, The Morning Porch, 09-15-11
Rhythms define our movements here
before we arrive at still points we find
are quaint leaps of quiet epiphanies:
sundowns are sunrises like crashing
waves ebb, nights are days shorn of
nightmares, screams of pain a lullaby.
I see these circles twirl and ask: why?
Is darkness known only through light?
Fierce love through utter loneliness?
Why must a bright day be rained on?
How does life go from death to living?
Lest one dies to oneself, he is not alive.
When the rhythm ceases on a still point,
do movements move toward an end?
Where is my end when I have not begun?
---Albert B. Casuga