All Is One Poem by Michael Maxwell Steer

In the silent hours of dark
the day hangs like a suit of sequins,
glinting mischievously in a cupboard.

The grumbling of dogs and distant thud
of heating foretell the coming dawn -
a call to resume the unequal fight.

Each day new born, a squeaky slate
to be erased and filled again
with indecipherable purposes.

By night the moonlit path to sea
leads from the tempting cliff edge: a solo
flight to any destination

imaginably easy. Ah …
how woefully slow the plodding day,
with its interminable minions

blocking every avenue,
degrading any clarity
until everything is fuzzy

and we must await the night again
for the motivating vision
of why we're here to be restored.

15 January 2009: : ® 16 November 2017