There was a time
when we played our lives
against the coming
of darkness.
All sun long we ran
and
through the mossy thick grass
we came to see
all existance pass before us.
Barefoot
we mastered trees
and conquered whole orchards
and in the heat
of the day's fierce battle
of life
of existance,
we slept beneath the living leaves
or sated ourselves
on the sweet fruits which grew
in our conquered territories.
Another day
we sat in the early sun
and felt our backs grow hot
as this day's sun
grew older.
We watched the years of cold dew
parch as time on the bladed life.
It was a Summer,
and our browned bodies yearned
for the chill of the stream.
We ran through the clovered field,
and when we fell,
we pulled up and threw
great handfuls of that green life:
laughing.
But those days were, even then,
dying.
We felt the heat bear down upon us.
We stopped our game,
and ran again
toward the loving stream.
Such wonderous incomprehensible things
did abound in our past.
Those majestic ferns
and grasses and breezes
still live deep
within our souls
beyond all knowing.
Heedless of our crime
(not to remember),
we waded slowly down the chilling stream
tearing up the ferns
and long grasses
which grew along its sensuous banks.
Thus were we all:
the suns, the moons
the coming in, the going out,
the children of the living,
the parents of the dead,
the breathing in,
the breathing out:
all; always sex,
and all motion as sound.
It was a Summer,
and you knew my name.
Remember it now!
I am you.