Clear
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