how delicate the strands of fate
break one and would the web cascade in reconfiguration
and such existence as to breathe a word of wonder
will not be lost to the scurrying wind
a shard of a broken window into spring
now i’m in jerusalem in my mind
life is sweet when the hope bubbles
built with the words cathedrals are built from
much to be done, just so much one can do
but wars end, even in eternity
the current carried to its terminal activity
now let me stand, here, against the wind
while a storm of wildflowers explode in my eye
