It is not clear whether we are rushing toward or waiting for some bright beginning, but everything in us bends to it with an ache deep as pleasure but dark. Whenever I break something say bread or a bone or the bark from split fir I think about this this day when all things are made new, rejoined, re-membered and the end bends clear around to the beginning and everything is as it is clear Mark Buchanan Nov. 2, 2007 #clear #poem