Can I, after 80 years, look out at distant hills
and see, beyond the worlds I thought I knew
and know, with great reluctance, that what
I thought was a world of exploration and love
was really the explosive devices left by wars
to wash up and undermine the world we thought
we'd left for generations of our children?
How can I watch the dark clouds of storms
repel the light I sought to hold within my sight,
just there, see, between me and where the dark
might have fallen at any moment, leaving me
to wonder how I held onto expectations I've held
for all these decades I have actually enjoyed,
in spite of what I always feared would be?
And even when the sky is blue can we expect
to see the sun fall with brilliance in the west,
can we ignore the storm clouds in the east,
explosions we hear in broadcasts of angry days;
can we try, at least for an afternoon,
to escape and let fall the pained consciousness
as we lift a glass of wine to a quiet fall of the day?
For decades I have tried to rise and fall and see
what there might be beyond the windows
I've waited in, beyond the windows that open
to the clarity of an afternoon, the stormy
falling of light that I depended upon, the hope
I tried to share with friends I held to during
this passage of time I've found my way through.