My memory knows the
pitfalls,
those places of pain where
the soul asks forgiveness
for its failures.
Is it better songless
to skim lightly
with the knowing that
one day, one time,
eventually,
something beyond memory,
an ancient need,
will demand more,
rising formidable and
stern
to face
your wandering form
and say
Now!
It is time!
You must cross
the river stones one at a
time,
turn back to look -
but those,
there on the shore,
pale figures in the trees,
their cries are bird song.
You will wish
your touch had been
purer, like the music
that finally
reaches you
on the other side.