The Years Go On For Years By Marc Lengfield

The Years Go On For Years 

By Marc Lengfield

Then in the beginning something fell was fallen like low rain on the forehead, droplets of diminutive bees the release of a hum of wishing for one last game in the end times one last game lasting of elbows and parts.

Then in the beginning when the midnighter called when on the scales the wind weighed out its syllogisms, payment for old debts of Saturday afternoons. 

Then it was the beginning time before the terror dollars rolled up the farmlands before the teleprompter’s secret orders droned the desert.

Then it was the beginning yet again an extinction of autumnal stars and one more destiny isolated and purified walking alone along deep highway sheltered in snow flurry.

Then it was the time called onset when the gloaming went further, looking sideways to ask
 
"Where are you now my friend and what company do you keep? Whose name lights upon your lips like a small bird closing its wings one simple act of detached faith driving back the last century?"

Like you I’ve bet hard at the grasshopper races posed delicately in my declensions given ill to the futures market.

One day for me and for you on the skyline an ovate sun blinks its scattered gold down on the valley villagers stroking the necks of black swans and clutching lapis lazuli.

In the streets the new people pocketing the implicate order, smoothing out the discrete.

When yourself the split bird and one side mute. 

Everyday breathing slowly at last.

In the beginning the timing of a pearled dialectic. 

And finally the quotidian reprieve.

Dead spaces lay themselves down sleeping.

One day your heart beating and more intensely

The evolution of your shining.





​About the Author: Marc Lengfield lives in Florida where he teaches Mathematics at a local University.  
​