AFTERNOON ROAD

                           AFTERNOON ROAD

A white- and westward-slanted sun,

its shattering of yellow light

through the pine tree needles,

darkly bunching,

and the undisciplined,

leaf-rousing air,

make me of a mood to sing

a wistful elegy for vanished wanderers.

I amble down afternoon's road-

the feel of country gravel.

Free sight, the breathing quiet,

leave thought to rove,

to muse on far-past folk,

of secrets sealed in silence:

of women wise in herbal lore

with soft, unspoken feeling for

the seasons' sacred ceremony,

affinities, antipathies, known only to

noumenal sight,

the rhythmic life of world

and powers that wax and wane

by cyclic moon's degree;

of students of lost alchemy,

the fires of forgotten chambers,

with small world and the great,

in qualities related,

the spirit of the matter;

for thus transmuting inner elements,

base metal into gold;

of storytellers and the singers,

the players of the tales of soul,

inspirited in imaged form;

the dawn of deeper light,

of time guides working through

the self-effacing culture fight.

And contemplating their forgotten paths,

in mellowed day's late light,

it seems they passed along

a meandering, afternoon road

towards obfuscating

enlightenment's night.

Did they listen into nature's song?

Did they gaze upon

the golden signpost to the sun?