The Margin

The Margin by Eric Ashford

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The Margin

The cobwebs of the sky
are ankle deep and curling.

I drift out to the banks of the pond
where the sun will rise
like a golden fish.

Yesterday has not caught up.
It has taken many years to become
as bewildered as this.

It is not that I am tired, just thinly spread
like the light upon these waters.
I am awed by the ushering in of my life-
its ripple effects.

Here by the margin,
where the heron awakes fully clothed,
there is a dream's plumage
and comfort.

There is a watch-keeping
where the cobwebs
break apart,
a timeless moment.
The only moment
that will be remembered
of the path
that led me here.