When all is said and all undone When all is said and all undone, as out of season or too soon the sun will slant beneath the rain clouds and cast that altering sideways light, born premature or died too young, the unconsummated wedding dance, the end will come at once to all and unite if only as we stop. The rhythm of a blade on whet stone, the gritty slide of side of steel until one more would be too far, the perfect blade falls by it’s own weight through the embroidered curtain’s facing stained by all the best and worst of things we do until it falls in folds and rests on the stage’s broken varnish floor. And so all the watchers watching from beyond the stage we’d known, the acts and speeches of our plays, the wider things we did not see the better things we could not say. We all will reach the journeys end, the shore. Exhaling angels on that sea stand back undam the wave where films of water played on pebbles, had gently touched and ebbed and flowed, The pacing wolf at the forest's edge, like all latent waiting things seen just beyond the edge of sight, the hooded hawk that claws at jesses tied and tethered dogs that strain, The candles uneven but persistent flame draws on all it can until the final spitting end.
From the bough of this earth's soil the final fruit falls , eon, age, epoch, season, pressed from the woody vine, the wine that sobers, stripping it all back and bare and arid where the final generation stands.
From the scattered bricks of Babel the ruts laid down by mankind's travels, from Adam’s cave to Abel’s blood and Cain’s relentless wondering, out over continents we stretched , rippled out in streams the foot prints held in sands and petrified in rocks.
it's not what's coming that should count but rather what's held back unknown.
the final trailing vine and falling fruit, drawing from it's cracking wood, the wine that sobers.
