The pendulum swings & eternity is somewhere in the middle

Tossed in the river again, like a fish
injured but alive— back into the cool
currents that soothe the places exited

by barbs. There’s that story of the man
who’s always trudging uphill with his rock,
& the women condemned to gather water using

only sieves. In the thickening canopy of summer,
soon, the drone of cicadas waking from a sleep
of 17 years, after which they mate & die.

So too the towering agave that took all of 80 years
to start giving up its thousand yellow buds: right
after the flowering, its quick decline, its dying.

What theme is common to them all? Already we
live in eternity, caught in the loops of time.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Remembrance of things past.

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