When the pendulum does not swing, when the second hand does not sweep, when the hourglass loses no sand – there are no words for those fragments of time. But we know.
We remember when time stood still.
The sun will not set today,
Nor will it rise,
Above ancient woods, blue tinged mountains,
That gave birth to this valley,
Above madcap rollicking waters,
Above eagles embracing Earth’s breath.
The sun will not set today,
Nor will it dart,
Between whispy-haired mongrels flying,
That dance with all Heaven’s beasts,
Residing in daylight, dissolving,
Residing in shimmers and dreams.
The sun will not set today,
Nor will it mend,
The fabric so scarred now and faded,
That shrouded, protected the strong,
When roaming and fleeing, and praying,
When working, rejoicing, at rest.
The sun will not set today,
Nor will it weep,
For weary souls walking in stone-fields,
Who quaver their prayers into songs,
Of seasons now passed, calendars gone,
Of day dreams, of sweet-remembered worlds.
The sun will not set today,
Nor will it know,
That this is its moment unmoving,
A world stayed in vaults made of air,
An hour no words can remember.
An ever-lost breath in the stillness.
The sun will not set today,
Nor will it see,
Galloping wilderness or newborn babes,
Weddings or cliff dives or lightning,
Silent, it waits in a cleft within time,
Silent, it pauses in wonder.
The sun will not set today,
Nor will it feel,
What we have known in such hours,
Those timeless strands of tangled light,
When air was not free, when breath was not life,
When hourglass sand became hummingbird wings.
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