Everything, everything
shrinks with age,
tight-rap to rest on
brittle elbows and arms,
smooth as wide-eyed dreams consume
a gentler landscape of
toddler reasons and jester

Everything, everything
falls into temperaments,
the weathered storm in steps
Life no longer sleeps,
regrets no longer paid,

And in everything,
the bugle rounds its
note of cart drawn flowers,
effigies sweet minstrel.
the bards' final stage.
"The stuff...",
of dreams,

Everything, everything
tumbles with time,
and only,
only the chisel of gods
move in their sheaves
content too watch as
the tether shakes.

David Hunter Sutherland

Magic Stream Journal
Copyright © 1996 David Hunter Sutherland