Fire tree in bloom

Resolution

The clock has turned.

Once? Twice? I cannot tell. But it has.

It beams full as the moon.

Years passed are done. Not gone, just quelled into silence.

Within and without.

The place is Changed too.

A cattle farm smelt earlier.

Now it wafts death and renewal my way.

That burdens my heart, and I wake to find we are mated.

What resolution that fills the urn yet leaves space for ever more. A mirage?

No quite. I Read the road signs and charted course.

This place, Gilroy, bestows a benevolent mend.

And for that I am grateful.