Long, spindly branches flickering in a whirl,
Illuminated by the brush of the sun,
The glory, as mesmerizing as any dance,
Yet I am moving forward as the trees
Remain stationed in their stillness.
Mom spoke of her parents again
And their stories trail behind me,
And the stories of those before them
And the stories of those before them.
They are still, their lives fraying threads
Of fraying and storied tapestries
That were once carefully woven.
Some are only known by name
And some we have lost the names of,
Never mind what they did and they loved.
In the speed of my days, I worry
That their eyes would be filled with
Disappointment and disapproval
If they could see what I have chosen
With my days and my years,
Yet I have lost them to the whirl
From the speed of my days.
All I can pray is that the light I love
Will illuminate us and make disordered seeking
A thing of beauty.